


A Flower for Guy

by Lady_Angel_Fanwriter



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Love, Romance, Romanticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-15
Updated: 2020-09-24
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:42:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 154,618
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23155771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter/pseuds/Lady_Angel_Fanwriter
Summary: Sir Guy of Gisborne comes back from the Holy Land, on his conscience the knowledge of having killed Marian. Appointed Sheriff of Nottingham in the place of Vaisey, he struggles to find a way to make up for his past wrongdoings, but it's a very hard task.After many years, Guy meets again Lady Violet of Chetwood, a childhood friend of Robin Hood; the widow of a man who mistreated her, the young woman has returned to her ancestral mansion and has always helped her friend Robin since he has been declared an outlaw, and therefore she's not well-disposed towards Guy, whom she knows since she was a child. Complicated dynastic events, however, will force her to approach precisely the black-clad knight for a marriage of convenience...(please mind that English is not my native tongue; any correction from English-speaking people is welcome)
Relationships: Guy of Gisborne/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 125
Kudos: 36





	1. Chapter I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ilaria Tomasini (Eugeal)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eugeal/gifts).



Introductory statement

_I wouldn't like living in the Middle Ages, an era where women were not considered if not as breeding animals, but this is a reinvented Middle Age, historically inaccurate, just like the TV series on which it is based; nor am I an expert of Medieval history, therefore do not expect absolute precision about customs, traditions, technological possibilities or other things, peculiar of a professional. Also dates of real events are here different from History and follow instead those of the TV series._

Chapter I

The Holy Land, an abandoned village, 1194

Vaisey, Sheriff and Baron of Nottingham, was lurking behind the corner of a dusty building, in his hands a bow with a nocked arrow. It was hotter than hell, in this godforsaken abandoned village, at a short distance from Acre, and he was sweating profusely in his black clothes, furthermore adorned with a small cape of weasel fur.

He was waiting for King Richard Lionheart, determined to kill him once and for all, after a failed assassination attempt two years earlier, when he had sent Gisborne to do the dirty work and the latter had been stopped by Robin of Locksley timely intervention. As Vaisey was the chief commander of the Black Knights, the secret organisation Prince John had founded to get rid of his brother Richard to take the throne in his place, Vaisey had decided to take charge of the situation, so he would be nearer to his ultimate goal: England’s throne, which he wanted for himself. After Richard’s death, John would be proclaimed King of England, but being a weak, he would be easily overthrown and, at that point, being closely enough related to the Plantagenets, Vaisey would seize the crown...

The noise of hooves at a slow trot interrupted his thoughts; Vaisey held his breath, waiting to discover who it was, and a few moments later, he glimpsed the imposing shape of Richard of England, wrapped in his snow-white Crusader cloak, elegantly draped behind him on the mighty back of his warhorse. The sovereign had no chance to see him from that angle, and realising it, Vaisey sneered triumphantly: he bent his bow, taking aim accurately, then he released the arrow. It headed hissing towards Richard and drove into his shoulder. Vaisey cursed: he had aimed more to the centre, where the heart was located; in this position, the arrow wouldn’t kill the Lionheart on the spot.

Richard arched backwards with a pained yell and then he bent over the neck of his destrier, but he managed not to fall; the horse went on trotting in the direction he had been steered earlier, leading him to an open space with a well at its centre. Here, the pain overwhelmed him and the proud sovereign felt his strengths fail and slipped from the saddle, falling face down on the scorching sand. He moved in the vain attempt to reach the arrow and tear it off his flesh, but the pain became unbearable and he lost consciousness.

At that very moment, from the other side of the open space, Sir Guy of Gisborne appeared in the arch between two houses, his hand on the hilt of his broadsword.

From the top of the staircase where she had been hiding, Lady Marian of Knighton had seen the king coming, strangely bent over his saddle; now, in horror she saw him falling to the ground and, at the same time, she glimpsed Gisborne. With an angry cry, she jumped out of her shelter.

“Guy!” she shouted.

Gisborne didn’t understand how she could be there; he had left her shackled in the sheriff’s rented house in Acre; how had she escaped? Anyway, he was there to fulfil a mission, which would give him everything he wanted for so long: wealth and power beyond belief. He couldn’t waste time in cogitations. He would think about it later.

He unsheathed his broadsword, staring grimly at Marian; she ran down the stairs and rushed to place herself between him and the wounded king.

“Stop” she yelled again, halting and lifting her arms, not in a surrendering gesture, but in one of command, “’Tis over, Guy.”

He ignored her and stepped forward.

“Get out of the way.”

“All this time I was fighting for England”, Marian said proudly, “You think I’m letting you kill England?”

“Marian... _get out of the way_!” Guy shouted, wielding his broadsword. She was startled, but didn’t move.

“You have to kill me first”, she declared through clenched teeth, all of her Nightwatchman temperament coming to the fore after months of forced inactivity.

“No”, Guy snarled, “We can go out of this. I’m going to do this thing, and then I’ll have power beyond measure, and we will be together.”

Marian laughed in his face.

“I would rather die, than be with you, Guy of Gisborne”, she declared straightforward, almost cruelly. Guy froze, distraught and incredulous.

“No...”

“I’m going to marry Robin Hood”, Marian went on, smiling cockily again; Guy stared at her without understanding, unable to grasp the meaning of the words she was throwing at him, “I love Robin Hood”, the young woman went on, in her voice a hint of disbelief, “I love _Robin Hood_ ”, she repeated, now firmly, in a final tone.

The last sentence finally penetrated into the fog that had wrapped around Guy’s mind. With a shout full of anger and pain, he threw himself against her, lifting his broadsword, determined to punish her for her insolence. He had to knock her out, kill the king and then drag her away with him to England, where he would force her to marry him.

Marian transformed instantly into the Nightwatchman and reacted forcefully, lifting her arms and blocking Guy’s hand wielding the broadsword. Surprised by her unexpected resistance, Guy was slow in counteracting and he almost lost his grip on the hilt. They struggled furiously, moving around in the open space and kicking up a lot of dust. Marian was trying to disarm him and at the same time to shove him as far as she could from the collapsed and unconscious shape of the king. On his side, Guy was trying to break free so he could knock her out and kill the sovereign, without hurting her. Using his superior strength, he lowered his sword between them intent on freeing the wrist Marian was grabbing with both her hands; a jerky movement from her part, maybe in an attempt to push Guy backwards, made her instead fall against him. Her eyes dilated suddenly while a gasp escaped her; she staggered backward and Guy, terrified, saw a scarlet stain spreading on the front of her white kaftan. He took involuntarily a step forward, holding out his hand as if he wanted to help her; lowering his eyes, he saw the point of his sword stained with blood. He froze and, with a dismayed gasp, he dropped the weapon to the ground.

Marian pressed her hands against her belly, where she had been stabbed; she gazed at Guy, who had raised his eyes to her with an expression of complete horror. Her beautiful face showed pain, disbelief and fright in equal parts.

“No”, Guy whispered, in despair. Without a sound, Marian collapsed on the sand; Guy moved to run and kneel beside her, but at that moment, Robin’s anguished yell echoed:

“ _Marian_!”

Guy saw him running closer and backed hastily. Robin dropped to his knew next to the injured woman, while the square resounded with other appalled shouts, those of Robin’s companions. Guy backed further; Much and Little John ran to Marian, while Djaq went to the king, Will Scarlett at her tail. Behind him, Guy heard Vaisey roaring:

“ _Gisborne_!”

Her turned and was him rushing to his horse.

“’Tis not over, Hood!” the sheriff barked, boastful as usual, while grasping the destrier’s bridles, “I will have England!”

He made an imperious gesture to which Gisborne, used to years of obedience, responded running to him. Vaisey hauled up into the saddle and Guy mounted behind him, dazed, his mind empty of any thought, his heart in pieces. The sheriff spurred furiously the horse, which started at a gallop, taking away the two men from the deserted village, while even Allan A Dale was arriving, staring at them leaving, unable to stop them. 

Bouncing hard on the back of the galloping destrier, Guy clang to the sheriff in order not to fall. In his mind was playing on loop the scene of Marian staggering backwards, blood staining the whiteness of her long tunic spurting from the wound to her belly. He was unable to recall if it had been he thrusting forward the point of his sword to hit her, or if it had been her who, colliding with him in the frenzy of the fight, had stabbed herself on it. For sure, he never meant to injure her. He wanted only knock her out, so he could finish the job, and then he would drag her away from there, alive even if maybe not unhurt. He wanted to marry her, damn, not kill her! Instead, she was now lying in the sand, a wound to her belly of which he didn’t know the seriousness. He had seen many injuries to the belly and knew that, unless it wasn’t a rather superficial cut, the chances of her surviving weren’t large. Of course, she could count on Djaq’s treatments – the Saracen girl was a very good physician – but she wasn’t capable of working miracles.

He had killed the woman he loved.

_He had killed the woman he loved._

He would never forgive himself for this. Ever. Because this had made him a monster with no chances for redemption.

In the darkness of pain and remorse that was clouding his brain, a question came insistently to the fore, a question he had already asked himself: how could Marian be there in the first place? How had she managed to free herself from the chains she had been shackled in the basement of the house the sheriff had rented? How had she met in the desert with Hood and King Richard? Hood must have found her, unlikely as it was, and therefore it must have been he who had set her free. And consequently, it was Hood’s fault if Marian had been in that deserted village and had stepped in to defend Richard.

Guy’s mind, looking desperately for release from the excruciating pain and the terrible torment distressing him, found a lifeline in anger.

_It was all Robin Hood’s fault._


	2. Chapter II

Chapter II

Chetwood Manor, Nottinghamshire, March 15th, 1194

Violet checked the linden and chamomile infusion she was preparing for her father, Sir William of Chetwood. As it was ready, she filtered it and the sweetened it with a little honey, before taking it to the dining room, where the elderly knight was waiting for her, sitting in front of the blazing fireplace. It was mid-March and it was still quite chilly, even if the snow had almost totally vanished from the fields.

“Here you are, father”, Violet said, offering him the ceramic cup with the infusion; the grey-haired man accepted it, smiling at her lovingly; he sported an almost completely white beard.

“Thank you, daughter”, he said, “You’re as good as you mother, with medicinal herbs.”

Violet had learned the healing arts with herbal remedies from her mother Adèle, who had learned them in turn from her mother Marie, a native of Brocéliande whom many had though being a witch.

“I wish I had more time to learn directly from her”, Violet declared with a sigh, sitting next to her father, “The herbal medicine manuals she had copied for me when I married are a great help, but nothing is like direct experience.”

“Fourteen years have passed since”, William observed, sipping at the infusion, “You got a lot of experience.”

“That’s true”, she confirmed, “even if sometimes I messed up things… like when, accidentally, I gave a purgative to that unpleasant Lady Rosalind, instead of a tonic”, she added, grinning. William laughed: actually, the remedy had been administered on purpose to the petulant noblewoman, who dared to publicly reprimand Violet because she thought her behaviour was not proper for the royal court. Indeed, the young woman was quite temperamental, as her mother had been, and as Queen Eleanor herself was, and she hadn’t let the presumptuous woman off that easy: Lady Rosalind had stayed in bed for two days with a dysentery.

After drinking some more, William observed with a sad smile:

“I miss your mother so much…”

“I, too, miss her a lot”, Violet stated. Adèle had died five years before because of a fever, which not even her herbalist capability had found a remedy, not even with the help of the old healer, Matilda, who lived in Sherwood forest and who had assisted her until the end.

Rare thing among nobles, William and Adèle had married for love. The young Chetwood had been a very handsome boy and all the maidens were crazy about him, but William had always been pretty down to earth; when he had met Adèle, at Henry II Plantagenet’s court, both were 15 years old and they had immediately fallen in love with each other; she was one of Queen Eleanor’s ladies-in-waiting and, like her, she came from Aquitaine. The queen had looked favourably to their love and therefore, one year later, they got married. Their union had been blessed next year with the birth of their firstborn Jeffrey, who was fair like his father; now he was fighting in the Crusade with King Richard. Three years later, Violet was born, looking very much like her mother both in features and in fiery character, even if this was partially tempered by the typical reflexivity of her father.

Child of a love marriage, she hadn’t been forced to marry a man of her father’s choice; on the contrary: when Charles, Baron of Roganton, had asked him for Violet’s hand in marriage, William made sure his fifteen-year-old daughter liked the man. Even if he was more than twice her age and a widower, Charles was a handsome-looking man and he seemed very kind to Violet, therefore she had accepted him; also, the fact his fief was just one day away from Chetwood helped a lot. Therefore, three months later, she had become a Baroness.

Charles had immediately proved to be a hasty lover, indifferent to his wife’s pleasure; on their wedding night, he had taken her with no foreplay at all, hurting her, and later things didn’t improve much. Luckily, each time he lasted only a few minutes, and Violet came to the point to estrange herself from her body while her husband rode her, spurted his seed inside of her and then left her. Over time, it became clear that not even she, as it had been for his first wife, was able to give him a son, and hence, Charles had turned to other women, in the hope to have at least a bastard to name his heir; but not even those women were able to fulfil his hopes, making clear that he was unfertile. At last, two years earlier, Charles had died in a hunting incident and the title and fife had gone to his younger brother Roland; her brother-in-law had offered her the opportunity to stay, but as she had never liked the way he looked at her – with clear concupiscence, in spite of his gorgeous and obliging wife – Violet had refused and returned home. As it was the custom, her dowry had been returned to her, and she had it invested in her father’s fief, funding repairing and replacement of equipment that, over time, funding that, over time, would bring profit. If one day she would remarry, her father wouldn’t have troubles to provide her another dowry; but given her unhappy experience, Violet had no intention to get another husband.

At that moment, Isabelle entered into the room. She was Violet’s young cousin, daughter of William’s younger sister; her parents had died a couple of years before Violet came back to Chetwood. At twenty-two, under her angelic looks Isabelle hid a character even more combative than Violet and Adèle put together and, instead of learning the arts of needlework and household, she preferred devoting herself to weapons. This was not unheard of, among noblewomen, even if none trained with equal constancy, passion and dedication as she did. She was an outstanding swordswoman, especially in the technique with dagger and sword, which she favoured over sword and shield because, being a woman, she had to count more on agility than strength. On her body, she sported proudly a few scars, which she had received during training and fighting against the outlaws infesting the county’s roads, while she was escorting her uncle’s carts to the markets of Nottingham or Mansfield. Here, they sold or bartered the goods their small but rich fief produced, in particular apples, which were renowned both for cider production and for eating; among the latter sorts, one stood out, a peculiar golden type, crispy and juicy when freshly picked, while with conservation it became mellow and very sweet, therefore it was highly sought after to cook both must jams and tarts.

“Good afternoon, Uncle William”, she greeted him, placing her leather gloves on the table to take off her helm, “Hullo, Violet. Is there a hot drink for me, too?”

“Hullo, Rebelle”, her cousin countered, smiling, using the nickname the maiden had earned with her explosive character, a mix between _rebel_ and _Isabelle_ , “If you like, there’s some spiced cider in the kitchen.”

“Excellent”, Rebelle approved, tucking behind her ear a chestnut-brown lock that had fallen loose from the tight braid in which she usually plaited her hair, “I’ll drink some to heat up my stomach, before taking a bath.”

“We can take it together”, Violet suggested.

Adèle had taught to all her family the importance of hygiene, of both body and house, and even the servants took a bath at least once a week; Rebelle washed herself after each training, meaning almost every day, and Violet too, because cleanliness was paramount, during the preparation of medicaments, from the simple infusions to the most complicated ointments and potions. Often, the two cousins bathed together, chatting about their everyday occupations, their wishes and their plans.

Rebelle nodded and took back her gloves; taking her leave, she crossed the room heading for the kitchen. William sighed:

“I doubt we’ll ever find a husband for her”, he commented in a tone both amused and exasperated. He adored his niece, but he didn’t think someone could ever want such an unconventional woman as a wife, so much more inclined to martial arts rather than to womanly arts.

“I suppose she’s not interested”, Violet observed. _And neither am I,_ she thought, but she avoided saying it aloud as to not upset her father; she had never confessed to anyone – not even her mother – her disappointment about what her marriage had been in the bedchamber.

“But I won’t be here forever to protect her”, William objected.

“Of us all, Rebelle is the one who less needs protection, don’t you think?” Violet said, forcing a smile even if the hint to her father’s mortality had saddened her, “And she’ll know how to protect me too”, she added, before William could object that she, too, needed to be safeguarded, being an unmarried woman.

William pressed his lips together and shook his head: on one hand, he acknowledged the martial capability of his niece, but on the other hand, he still feared it wasn’t enough.

“The world’s not kind”, he whispered, “especially with women.”

“Don’t forget that, as I am Adèle de Mornais’ daughter, I enjoy the favour of Queen Eleanor”, Violet reminded him; she had had proof of it during her stays at court, “Not even Prince John would dare to harm a single hair on my head.”

Everyone knew that Richard’s vain and faint-hearted younger brother, regent of the English throne in his absence, had a healthy fear of his authoritarian mother, whose ire was notoriously dreadful.

William nodded reluctantly, not because he doubted Eleanor’s favour, but because he didn’t think it was enough, on a long-term basis, to keep his daughter and niece safe, because not even the formidable Queen Mother was immortal. However, as he didn’t want to displease Violet, he kept his doubts to himself.

“I’m going to rest a bit, before dinner”, he announced, standing up. Violet saw him wince.

“I’m coming with you, so I’ll apply some ointment on your shoulder”, she said, standing in turn. For a few years, William suffered from arthritis on his left shoulder and only his wife’s and now his daughter’s ointments relieved his pain.

“Thank you”, he therefore answered gratefully.

A little later, after treating her father’s shoulder, Violet joined Rebelle in the bathroom, an area which stone-tiled floor gently sloped towards the centre, where a plug hole was engraved, an ingenious solution which William’s father had imported fifty years before from the Second Crusade. Rebelle was already immersed in her oblong wooden tub, lined with linen cloths to make it more comfortable, while a blazing fire heated the room. Seeing her coming, she smiled:

“I told Mary to use the violet oil, for your bath.”

Violet returned her smile as she began to undress: her cousin knew well it was her favourite essence, also because it hinted to her name. Exactly for the same reason, violet was her favourite colour.

Her gaze was drawn to Rebelle’s forearm, resting on the edge of the tub, and noticing there a new haematoma, she frowned.

“You forgot again to put on your leather bracelets before training”, she observed in a tone of slight reprimand. Jeffrey, too, sometimes forgot to do so.

Rebelle glanced casually at the reddish spot on her otherwise creamy skin.

“Aye, but the hit reminded me of it”, she commented grinning, “and I immediately slipped them on, so I prevented other bruises.”

“Later I’ll give you the arnica balm”, Violet announced, taking off her camisole and tossing it on the chair along with her woollen dress, then she slipped off her legs the long knitted socks she wore with a garter; they joined the rest of her clothes. Finally, with a satisfied sigh, she plunged into the scented water.

Remembering her father’s concerns about finding a husband for her young cousin, Violet thought she would openly raise the topic with her, because even if she truly thought Rebelle hardly needed protection and she personally had the Queen Mother’s favour, maybe one day all this could be not enough to keep them safe.

“Your uncle worries about your future”, she said straightforward, “He thinks that, with your fondness for weapons, a man could hardly want to marry you.”

Rebelle laughed:

“I don’t even think about marrying!”

Violet glanced at her, intrigued:

“Mayhap you found out you prefer women?”

She asked the question in a totally normal tone, not implying any form of judgement: the Church could thunder all it wanted against men who loved men or women who loved women, her mother had taught her that what counted was integrity, honesty, goodness of heart, altruism, and not with whom one chooses to sleep.

“Nay”, Rebelle answered with equal ease, as she felt the same way, “I like men; but should I not find one willing to accept me as I am, a warrior woman who does not want to be anyone’s _property_ , I’d rather remain unwed. I can’t guarantee on my virginity”, she added, frowning with a look full of determination, “Like the Amazons, I’ll give myself to whom I want and when I want, and if he’s not my husband, so be it.”

“Isabelle!” Violet cried, calling her by her true name to emphasise the earnestness of what she was about to say, “You shouldn’t speak like that!”

Actually, she thought her cousin was right, that is, a woman has every right to give herself to whom she wanted and not to whom she was ordered to, husband or not; but this was against the law of the Church and against the customs, even if at court she had witnessed many exceptions. Queen Eleanor herself couldn’t care less about the conformists’ opinion and had taken all the lovers she had wanted, much to her first and her second husband’s dismay. It was rumoured that she had had even female lovers, and that she had committed incest with her uncle, brother to her father, during the Second Crusade, but Adèle, and consequently Violet, thought it was only a malicious gossip caused by the envy that the strikingly beautiful, cultured and fiery Queen of France had caused in the female courtesans.

“If you’ll ever decide to give yourself to a man who’s not your husband”, she added in a low voice, “promise me you’ll tell me first. There are some... ways... to prevent pregnancy.”

Rebelle watched her, intrigued.

“You mean you wouldn’t stop me?”

“Would I succeed?” Violet countered, rising one eyebrow and grinning. Rebelle laughed:

“Nay, if I’d be sure I’m doing the right thing.”

“Exactly... I know you, little cuz! Make sure only to see that ‘tis your and solely your choice. In short: don’t let anyone seduce you, but be you the seducer!”

“What? You just told me I shouldn’t speak like that, and now _you_ do so...?”

“I said that out of duty, but actually, I feel the same way as you do: a woman should be free to give herself to whom she prefers, exactly like men do. As a matter of fact, a woman should be free to do what she likes, whatever it may be. Like you, preferring weapons rather than needlework. Unfortunately, men don’t feel this way, and even most women, and they’d prevent you to follow your tendencies, regarding them as _inappropriate_ ”, she grimaced on the last word, “Well, I wonder who has established what _is_ and what _is not_ appropriate, and by what authority”, she concluded.

“Aye, I too have often wondered about this.”

The two cousins kept silent for a few minutes, then Rebelle asked:

“Do you ever think about remarrying, Violet?”

“Nay!” Violet cried vehemently; noticing Rebelle’s surprised glance, she added, “I’m good, I don’t need another man.”

They had never discussed Violet’s marriage, but now something in her cousin’s tone and face told Rebelle there was something wrong.

“Weren’t you happy with your husband?” she enquired in a soft tone, to make her understand she didn’t want to know this just to meddle, but because she loved her.

Violet pressed her lips together: she had never spoken to anyone about her disappointment between the sheets and she didn’t think a virgin maid could understand it; besides, she didn’t want to scare her. She knew – from what she had gathered from servant girls and the few female friends she had made at court – that men could give great pleasure to women, if they wanted to.

“He had his flaws, like anyone else”, she answered, choosing carefully her words, “but generally, he has been a good enough husband.”

However, Rebelle knew more than her cousin guessed.

“You’re generous, defending him: I heard rumours he didn’t treat you in a properly irreproachable way...”

“You shouldn’t listen to gossip”, Violet scolded her, frowning; in spite of her discretion, perhaps the fact her husband wasn’t kind in bed had transpired...? 

“You mean he didn’t cheat on you?” Rebelle asked, “If so, I apologise...”

Violet sighed, relieved: she had no problem, with that.

“Seeing I didn’t get pregnant, he tried with other women”, she said in a flat tone, “He wanted an heir. I cannot blame him, not completely, as the Church makes it so difficult to annul a marriage. But he didn’t succeed in getting pregnant neither me, nor his first wife, nor any other woman, no matter how much he tried: evidently, he was sterile. Therefore, when he died, I got back my dowry and returned home.”

“And now you have no desire to take another husband...”

“Exactly”, Violet confirmed, nodding curtly.

“What if you fall in love?” Rebelle enquired. Violet pulled a face.

“I doubt I’ll ever find a man I could fall for”, she declared.

“Why, how should he be, to succeed?” Rebelle enquired, “Brave? Generous? Kind? Unselfish?”

“First thing first, he should have respect for me”, Violet answered, “And then everything you mentioned, too. I don’t think such a man exists”, she affirmed, shaking her head.

Rebelle nodded:

“He must be respectful, aye, you’re right; but I, instead, want to believe that such a man exists. Wait, no: two of them: one for you and one for me”, she concluded, winking.

Violet didn’t share her young cousin’s hopes, but she hadn’t the heart to disillusion her: unfortunately, life would take care of that, she mused bitterly.

They washed using soft sponges, passing them mutually on each other’s back instead of calling a servant; after drying up using large linen towels, they put on fresh underwear, then Violet slipped back into her previous gown, while Rebelle changed into clean britches, shirt and tunic. She typically used men’s wear, to be always ready to take up arms in case of need, and wore a feminine attire only on special occasions, such as parties or feasts; but even then, under it she bore her britches, so she could stick the skirt in her belt if she had to fight.

Once dressed, the two women headed for the herbalist’s laboratory, where Violet filled up a small clay pot with the arnica balm and handed it to Rebelle; the latter rubbed immediately some balm on her bruise, massaging until the ointment was completely absorbed. The remedy, which had already proved its effectiveness in the past, would cut in half the time needed for the haematoma to heal.

When they were finished, they got back to the main hall, where Mary was almost done with setting the table for dinner. Seeing them coming, the young servant bowed.

“Lady Violet, Maud made the honey and raisin cake that Sir William loves so much”, she announced, “so I was thinking about tapping some sweet cider...”

“Wonderful idea”, Violet approved, “but go get it at the last minute, so it’ll be properly cool.”

“Sure. Dinner will be ready soon.”

“Fine, then I’ll get my father.”

“Nay, leave it”, Rebelle intervened, “I’ll get him, anyway I have to go upstairs to take the balm to my chamber.”

Smiling, Violet thanked her cousin; waiting for her coming back downstairs with Sir William, she headed for the kitchen.

“Maud”, she addressed the cook, a middle-aged widow whose son was a promising apprentice in the stables, “did you instruct Jack about what he has to purchase tomorrow at Nottingham market?”

“Aye, milady, I listed him everything”, Maud answered, drying her hands on her apron, which she had learned, at Lady Adèle’s insistence, to change every day, “D’you have something to add?”

Of course, neither Maud nor Jack Knowles, Chetwood’s superintendent, could read or write, but both possessed an excellent memory and Violet was sure that, even with a very long list, they would hardly forget anything.

“We’re almost out of whisky”, she said, “If he finds a few casks, it would be good. Two or three are enough.”

There was a dealer in town, renowned for the quality of the whiskies he got directly from the Scottish Lowlands and Highlands, by sea from the port of Grimsby on the estuary of the Humber River and through Lincoln in the homonymous county.

“Alright, I’ll tell him to stop by Rowson too, then”, the cook answered.

Violet crossed over to the copper pot simmering over the fire and inhaled the aroma.

“Are you cooking trout stew?” she asked, feeling her mouth watering. Maud was an excellent cook and she used to prepare tasty dishes even with very simple things, such as peas, cabbage and turnips; her skills were particularly valuable during the time of Lent, like now.

“Precisely, seasoned with juniper, laurel, coriander and cloves”, Maud explained with barely contained professional pride.

“Your food is never boring”, Violet commented approvingly, “You can cook the same stuff in a hundred different ways.”

Feeling appreciated, Maud lighted up.

“Fantasy, Lady Violet, nothing else”, she said modestly, “and the ability to understand if a flavour goes well with another, of course”, she added, thinking better.

Violet nodded, then she took her leave and returned to the hall, where meanwhile Mary had brought carafes of cider, wine and water. Shortly after, William made his appearance with Rebelle; the master of the house sat at the head of the table, his daughter to his right side and his niece to his left. The table could host up to twelve guests, but usually they were just the three of them, like on this evening.

Mary brought to the table a thick pea soup, seasoned with ginger, served in simple ceramic bowls – they used more refined crockery only on occasions – which the three table companions appreciated much; then, the handmaid served the stew that, besides trout, contained also carrots and onions.

William drank wine, while Rebelle and Violet preferred cider; when they finished eating, the dessert arrived, along with cool sweet cider freshly taken from the cellar, and so they concluded happily their meal.

When they left the table, Mary came to clear it, while the three of them sat in front of the fireplace; on Violet’s instructions, Maud had prepared a digestive infusion made of mint, anise and cumin, which she now took personally to her master and mistresses. It was William who needed it most, as he had lately some difficulty in digesting, particularly meat, but the two ladies didn’t mind at all drinking the aromatic herbal tea.

This was the moment during the day that all three loved the most, because they could chat about anything coming to their minds; their favourite subject were Robin Hood’s endeavours in response to the Sheriff of Nottingham’s wrongdoings.

Robin of Locksley was a childhood friend of Violet; as kids, they used to play together, and she often got her playfellow out of trouble, as he had a tendency to make quite some. Growing up, Robin had fallen in love with Marian of Knighton and they gave each other the promise of marriage, but then Robin had answered King Richard’s call-to-arms and left for the Holy Land. When he had come back, two years before – after being dismissed because of a serious injury he had suffered while saving the king’s life – he had retaken his place as the Earl of Huntingdon, title he had inherited at a very young age following his father’s death, but he had found his world upside-down. At the beginning, the had tried to reason with Vaisey, but he had been forced to go into hiding to avoid being hanged in the attempt to save the life of two of his peasants, Will and Luke Scarlett. Since then, he worked to defend the poor people of Nottingham from the sheriff’s abuse and had become the hero of the county with the nickname of Robin Hood. 

The right-hand of the Sheriff and Baron of Nottingham was another old mutual acquaintance, Guy of Gisborne. Gisborne proclaimed to be in love with Marian, but he had forced her hand several times, going almost as far as forcing her to marry him, and this wasn’t love, but only will of possession. She had been always able to escape him, partly because of a mix of indomitable bravery and luck, and partly thanks to Robin’s intervention; Robin loved her sincerely, and she loved him back. Unfortunately, so far the adverse circumstances had prevented them to marry.

“No news about Robin or Marian?” William asked.

A few months ago, the sheriff and Gisborne had mysteriously vanished; they had abducted Marian, so Robin and his gang – the loyal Much, Little John, Will Scarlett, Allan-a-Dale, the Saracen girl Saffia called Djaq – had left in search of her.

“Nothing yet”, Violet answered with a sigh. The last news they had received had been a message that Robin sent them, informing them that he and the other ones were sailing for the Holy Land, where the sheriff and Gisborne were headed, with Marian as their prisoner.

“I’m very worried”, Rebelle said, “especially about Marian.”

The other two nodded: they knew perfectly what risks a woman ran, in the hands of unscrupulous men.

“Let’s hope Guy hasn’t changed so much, since he was a boy”, Violet whispered. By six years older than Robin and Violet, the elder son of Roger of Gisborne and his French wife Ghislaine had always been a quiet youngster, not very communicative, very protective of his younger sister Isabella. After the fire that had burnt their house, causing the death of their parents, he had left with his little sister, and then he had come back only a few years before, at the service of the perfidious Vaisey of Nottingham. He had proven many times he was a ruthless executor of the baron’s orders, however, almost as many times he had failed in carrying them out, especially the most obnoxious, in such a blatant way that one could think he was stupid… or that he actually _didn’t want_ to execute them and somehow he hoped for Robin’s intervention. Violet had been thinking of it many times: there was no way that Guy had been caught by surprise so many times by Robin… but other times, he had acted in such a merciless fashion – for instance, when he had burned Marian’s house – that Violet wondered if his failures were due only to misfortune. She was unable to decide one way or the other.

“Gisborne has often proved himself merciless”, William considered, having thought about it together with his daughter and niece, “but I’ve never heard he forced a woman.”

“Neither did I”, Violet admitted, feeling relieved, “On the contrary, if you remember Annie…”

Annie had been a servant at Nottingham Castle, who had borne a son to Gisborne, and he hadn’t certainly raped her, but she had been more than happy to give herself to him in the hope to improve her condition, and furthermore, she had become enamoured with him. However, instead of taking care of their little son Seth as he had promised her, Gisborne had abandoned him in the forest, where Robin had found and rescued him. Annie and the baby had then moved far from Nottingham, beginning a new life with the financial aid of Marian and Robin. Well, that was an episode showing Guy as a cruel man, however Violet couldn’t believe it, not completely, maybe because, as a child, she had a thing for him. She sighed: she hated not having a clear mind about something. A rebellious curl, escaped from her long braid – which brown colour she had inherited from her mother – tickled her cheek and she impatiently stuck it back behind her ear.

“If nothing else, Gilbert, as acting sheriff, isn’t a bully like Vaisey”, Rebelle commented; she

was referring to the captain of Nottingham’s guards, who Vaisey had appointed deputy sheriff before disappearing with Gisborne and Marian. The man was despotic, but at least he wasn’t gratuitously cruel like the baron.

“The one good thing in the situation”, William considered, “is that, for now, there’s no need of Robin Hood; but this will change, when Vaisey’s back, and therefore I hope that Lord Huntington will be back before him, or at the same time.”

“So do I”, Violet said, and Rebelle nodded in agreement.

“And to think that Vaisey and I are even related!” William blurted with an irritated face. Indeed, he and the sheriff were first cousins, as they shared their paternal grandfather; William’s mother had been Vaisey’s father elder sister; the latter had inherited the title, handing it down to his only male child.

Violet, too, produced a disgusted sound: not even she was proud about this kinship. Then, a thought struck her: her brother Jeffrey was actually the heir presumptive of the title of Baron of Nottingham, because not even the late Davina, Vaisey’s sister, had had children. Unless, of course, Vaisey wouldn’t take a wife and provided to produce himself an heir: after all, he wasn’t too old to do so.


	3. Chapter III

Chapter III

Nottingham Castle, a few days later

The door to the study burst suddenly open and Gilbert, the acting sheriff, jumped in the intricately carved, heavy wooden chair he was sitting upon.

“Who…” he began in an annoyed tone, then his eyes widened and he sprang up, “Sir Guy!”

Guy of Gisborne, completely wrapped in black leather clothes as it was his habit, stomped forward into the room; his azure eyes looked darker and his lips formed a bitterer curve, making his expression even gloomier than usual.

“Hullo, Gilbert”, he saluted; even his deep voice sounded different, unusually hoarse, the captain of the guards thought.

“Welcome back, sir”, he said, “I wasn’t notified of your arrival”, he added, frowning.

“I didn’t blow the whistle when I left, and I returned the same way”, Guy answered curtly.

“Aye… of course, sir. Lord Nottingham is with you?”

“The sheriff’s dead”, Guy informed him brusquely, “Prince John appointed me as Pro Tempore Sheriff, until King Richard returns, and then the king will possibly confirm the nomination.”

Such a nomination would once have been the crowning achievement of all his ambitions, but now he wasn’t interested anymore, not after what happened in the Holy Land.

“I see”, Gilbert said, taking a few steps away from the desk; he was relieved he would hand over his office, because the headaches accompanying it were not worth the temporary prestige it had given to him, so he was more than happy to be replaced by Gisborne, whom it was anyway due as the former sheriff’s deputy, “I’m sorry about Lord Nottingham”, he added dutifully, and insincerely: the baron had been an evil man, insanely ambitious and not always generous with those who proved loyal to him, therefore nobody would miss him, except the few who had really enjoyed perpetrating abuse in his name. Certainly not Gilbert, nor Guy.

On the threshold appeared a blond man, equally tall to Guy and even sturdier; he entered without hesitation and stood to the side of the black-dressed knight.

“This is Sir Drastan of Greenmere; I have appointed him as my deputy”, Guy introduced him. Gilbert examined the newcomer, whose eyes had a slightly darker shade than Gisborne’s, and exchanged a greeting nod with him.

“You’ll assist me in the pending business”, Guy went on, addressing Gilbert, “then you’ll take back your position as captain of the guard. If you’ve done a good job while being deputy sheriff, you’ll receive a better salary.”

Gilbert gaped: he hadn’t expected Gisborne favouring him this way.

“Thank you, sir”, was all he could manage to say. He definitely liked the new sheriff better than the old one, he decided.

One hour later, things handed over, Guy dismissed Gilbert, ordering him to prepare an inspection of the troops for the following morning at dawn.

“He looks like an efficient lad”, Drastan commented, referring to the man who had just left. Guy nodded:

“Aye, he knows his job well, that’s why I offered him a reward for his service as acting sheriff. But before I’ll make sure he hasn’t used his position to mistreat the peasants or steal from the public coffers”, he crossed his arms, “I won’t be sweet to anyone, but neither will I be a cruel and foolish tyrant like Vaisey. There’s no point in destroying a farmer’s or a craftsman’s business if he’s not able to pay taxes: better having him paying part of them rather than none because he has no land to cultivate or a workshop to run, don’t you think?”

“Indeed”, he younger man agreed, “From what you told me, the baron’s politics was totally absurd.”

“Indeed. Even if, when I was at his service, I didn’t think about it and merely carried out his orders, little by little I came to realise how completely insane he was. I certainly don’t regret he fell in that crevasse”, Guy concluded, with a hint of ferocity in his voice.

There was yet another reason why he didn’t regret Vaisey’s death: the former sheriff had tried to kill Marian, abandoning her in the desert with Robin and his men, despite him knowing that Guy wanted to marry her. Vaisey had imprudently revealed his deed while mocking him as he used to do; then, Guy had silently vowed he would kill the sheriff. However, there had been no need for it: the journey back from the Holy Land had taken them to disembark in Venice and, from there, through the Alps where, during a sudden snowstorm that separated him and the baron from the rest of the party of pilgrims, Vaisey had plummeted into a crevasse; Guy would forever remember the moment when the baron had slipped on the ice, beginning to fall along the incline ending into a chasm. He had shouted, imploring his help, but Guy hadn’t moved, staring at him while he inexorably glided towards his own demise, unable to feel even the slightest compassion for that monster.

Not that he was much better. Not after what he had done to Marian.

Guy had found shelter in a rocky ravine on the mountainside, where he had waited for the storm to clear, then he had gone looking for the group of pilgrims. When he had traced them, he had asked for their help to retrieve the corpse, carrying it to the next village on their way, where they had buried him in an anonymous tomb in the local cemetery, after a funeral ceremony a monk had hurriedly performed.

“No one will miss him”, Drastan commented, then he patted his stomach, “I’m hungry! What about looking for a little something for a sweet tooth?”

Guy grinned: his friend had a hearty appetite, and not only for food: he was a famed ladies’ man and it was rumoured that, at court, very few could resist him, be they maidens or married women. He laughed at the gossip, describing it as exaggerated; Guy had definitely seen him philandering with a number of ladies, though after coming back from the Holy Land, his stay at Windsor to inform Prince John about the baron’s death had been brief. The Regent had thus appointed him as the new sheriff until King Richard would return, confirming or invalidating the appointment. Or, on the prince’s not-so-much secret hope, until his elder brother would perish and he crowned as the new king, in which case he would take care of it himself. What the ambitious Regent couldn’t know was that, in the first instance, Guy would be sentenced to death because he had taken part to Vaisey’s plot to kill the king; but he didn’t care much, after what he had done in that deserted village near Acre… For now, and until his fate would be decided, he would govern Nottingham as well as he could; then, King Richard – if he returned – would impart his justice and he would pay for his crimes. After all, he didn’t care anymore about living, without Marian…

He realised that Drastan had said something, but he, engrossed in his own thoughts, hadn’t heard him.

“Sorry, I was distracted…”, he began, then he paused: it wasn’t his habit to apologize, it hadn’t been for many years. The events in the Holy Land had changed him truly very deeply. Anyway, Drastan was a long-time friend, one of the very few he would trust with his life; no, thinking better, the only one. The other friends, either they had become foes – like Robin Hood – or they were dead.

“I said I want something fleshy”, Drastan repeated, gazing at his friend a little worried: since he had met him again, just after he landed in England coming back from his mysterious journey to the Holy Land, he had seen him often absent-minded, absorbed in thoughts that didn’t look much pleasant. He had tried to interrogate him, but Guy didn’t want to talk about it.

“You mean something fleshy for _eating_ or _bedding_?” Guy enquired, smirking naughtily.

Drastan burst into laughter:

“For the time being, something for _eating_ ”, he answered, “If later I find also something for _bedding_ , I won’t shy away.”

“Have you ever?” Guy asked, while leaving the room together.

“Are you kidding? Why should I refuse what I’ve been offered so graciously?”

“Because ‘tis not fair taking a well-born maiden’s virginity, she should keep it for her husband…”

Drastan made a gesture as if chasing away an annoying fly:

“Nonsense: I don’t _take_ anything from anyone. If a maiden prefers to _give_ her virginity to me instead to a man not of her choice, she has every right. Who are we, men, to decide about women’s lives? Same for the married women: if they cheat on their husbands, most of the time ‘tis because their husband don’t satisfy them, so in my opinion he _deserves_ to be cheated on”, he concluded with a wolfish grin.

“You’re a true rascal”, Guy commented, shaking his head pretending resignation, but actually he fully agreed with his friend. For some time, while he was at the service of the perfidious Baron of Nottingham, he had forgotten it and he had tried to impose on Marian of Knighton, daughter of the former sheriff Sir Edward. He loved her, he wanted her, certain that she would, with her grace and innocence, be his salvation; but she loved, she had always loved only Robin of Locksley, and for the love of the latter, she hadn’t hesitated to play Guy, to deceive him, to delude him, until, pushed by desperation and anger, he had done something unforgivable.

A lifetime would not be enough to pay for the sin he had committed towards the young woman.

“That’s a matter of opinion”, Drastan replied, seraphic.

Guy shook his head, but didn’t retort, moving on something else:

“You won’t anyway find meat in the castle, I remind you that ‘tis Lent.”

The fair-haired knight shrugged: he wasn’t much the churchgoer and didn’t hide it.

The news that Guy of Gisborne was back had spread like wildfire throughout the castle; guards and servants they met along the corridors while heading for the kitchen hastily stood at attention or took low bows or curtseys, which Guy mostly ignored. The only one he greeted in return was one of the sergeants of the guard, whom they came across in a gallery.

In the kitchen, they found the head cook, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair, who was already giving orders for dinner.

“Sir Guy!” she cried, seeing him; she curtsied and came up to him, “I’ve been told you’re back and that now you’re the sheriff, therefore I’ll report to you for supplies, as I did with Lord Nottingham?”

Guy frowned: he had never been aware that Vaisey dealt personally with the supplies for the kitchen and thus he didn’t expect this question; however, thinking better, it made sense, because the previous sheriff was fond of food, and the more it was fine and costly, the more he liked it. He, Guy, had simpler tastes.

“I think that the palace superintendent can handle it, along with you… Joanna, right?” the woman nodded in confirmation, “Aye, I’ll delegate you two to do it.”

“Awww… very well, sir”, Joanna said, happily surprised: it had been always problematic satisfying Guy’s predecessor’s requests, “Meanwhile, how can I help you?”

“My friend Sir Drastan and I are hungry”, the black-clad knight answered, “What can you give us?”

“If there’s some beef, it would be great”, Drastan intervened hopeful, but the cook shook her head:

“Sorry, ‘tis Lent and all I have is bread and cheese, and Chetwood apples; but for tonight, you’ll have roasted smallmouth bass.”

“Let’s go with bread and cheese, then”, Guy said.

“Fine. Shall I have someone taking it to the great hall?”

That was something else he had to get used to: being served for everything, even a trifle. Before, as Vaisey’s second, servants of course equally attended him, but for many activities he had been on his own, such as getting dressed, going to grab a snack, polish his sword, taking a bath. Well, he wouldn’t change much his routine, he decided: he would continue to carry out some things like before. Having a snack in the kitchen, for instance, therefore he shook his head and sat at the large table where usually the kitchen workers, from the cooks to the scullery boys and maids, had their meals. Drastan did the same without blinking an eye: the younger son of a small landowner in York County, he was more used to the simple country residences than to the luxuries of a great castle like this of Nottingham.

Joanna signalled to one of her helpers, who went to get the cheese, while she brought to the table two loafs of wheat bread, the finest type and therefore reserved for the nobles and the rich merchants, while the poor must be satisfied with rye, spelt, oat or millet breads. A few moments later, the aid came back with a small wheel of cottage cheese; Guy and Drastan helped themselves and enjoyed the simple food, the black-clad knight a little surprised by this because, since the Holy Land, his appetite had been often down. However, the presence of his old friend helped him to hold off his dark thoughts and the terrible guilt he was feeling.

“A few apples, gentlemen?” Joanna asked, placing a small basket of shiny red apples on the table. Their scent reached Guy’s nostrils, lighting some long-dormant memories in his mind…

_A young girl with a bright smile and the name of a flower: Violet of Chetwood. Long hair the colour of chestnuts, glossy and wavy; eyes of a velvety brown, very sweet but capable of becoming as sharp as steel blades when she got mad._

_With her was always Robin of Locksley, unlike her fair as a Saxon, perennially up to mischief, getting constantly into trouble and Violet often getting him out of it._

_Isabella played with them, sometimes. Guy accompanied her; senior to them by six years, he watched them remaining aloof, envying their carefreeness; but he never joined their games, too quiet and shy for them. Anyway, he didn’t have the time for it: he was the man of the family since his father had left for the Holy Land, and it wasn’t easy for a sixteen-year-old boy, even if the custom and the law defined him as already of age. He had no time play, he had to take care of his mother, Lady Ghislaine, and his sister._

_Violet brought always apples for the afternoon snack and she shared them with Guy, too, even if he kept to himself. He still remembered their scent…_

Again, Guy realised that Drastan had spoken and he hadn’t heard him; but luckily, the fair knight kept on talking, therefore Guy was able to trace back what he had said earlier:

“…I particularly like the green ones, juicy and rather sour, but I must admit that these ones, too, are not bad.”

“Ah… I prefer the red ones”, said Guy, taking an apple and biting into it; it had the same flavour, sweet and slightly mellow, that he remembered, “Chetwood produces different kinds of apples; they produce also excellent ciders”, he turned to Joanna, “By chance, have you some Chetwood cider?”

“Sure”, the woman confirmed, “Joe, go and tap a carafe”, she ordered to her helper. The lad took a jug from the shelf and ran away, coming back soon after with the cider, which he poured into clay beakers. The two knights drank and Drastan smacked his lips.

“Truly excellent!” he commented.

When they finished their snack, they went to inspect the stables. Guy’s horse, a magnificent Frisian with a black coat, glossy after being well curried, greeted him with a neigh, and so did Drastan’s bay charger. The head groom, a grey-bearded middle-aged man named Cedric, spotted them and hurried to them.

“Fancy a ride, milords?” he enquired, smiling and thus revealing the lack of three teeth. His servile tone irritated Guy; and to think that, only a shortly beforehand, he wouldn’t even notice it, considering it the only correct way to address him.

“Nay, we came for an inspection”, Drastan answered, taking on his role as the second of the pro tempore sheriff, “Accompany us.”

The inspection highlighted a lack of cleanliness in the boxes where the horses of the guards were kept.

“We haven’t enough stable-boys” the head groom defended himself when Drastan pointed out the problem.

“Well, then hire them”, Guy cut him short, “I verified that there’s plenty of money, in Nottingham’s coffers. I don’t want mangy or colicky horses!”

The former sheriff had amassed a fortune, by squeezing every last bit out of his tenants and the shadow business he had conducted for years; and now, all his possessions were utterly useless to him, in that icy hole in the ground in a foreign country. So much for amassing riches, Guy thought with bitter cynicism: no use for it, in the end.

“Will do, Sir Guy”, Cedric assured him; Drastan caught an avid glint in his eyes that he didn’t like one bit. As he knew out of direct experience that often, amongst the servants, the seniors skimmed their subordinates’ remuneration, he intervened hastily:

“I’ll interview personally the hands and I’ll establish their pay, with Sir Guy’s approval of course.”

He glanced meaningful at his friend; Guy granted him his tacit request of support and nodded. Cedric’s expression changed, showing clearly his disappointment, but of course the head groom didn’t protest and just bowed his head in acceptation.

Guy and Drastan went back to the main building of the castle; looking at the position of the sun, now next to set, the black-clad knight gestured to the first maid they met:

“Get a bath ready for me”, he ordered, then he turned to his friend, “You too?”

“I don’t understand your love for baths”, Drastan commented, “but yeah, why not?”

“You heard”, Guy said to the maid, who curtsied to him before hurrying away.

“I learned the importance of cleanliness in the Holy Land”, Guy explained to Drastan, while they resumed their stroll, “After all, if we don’t want our horses to be mangy, why should _we_ be?”

Drastan looked struck:

“You know, I never considered this. You’re perfectly right. The problem is, all that back and forth with the buckets, fill up and then empty the tub, water spilling and flooding the floor...”

“Well, that’s something I’ll see to get changes: I saw the Moors’ rooms for bathing, the floor slants to the centre where there’s a plug hole, so when water spills, ‘tis channelled there and there’s no need to mop up. I’ll call for the masons immediately tomorrow.”

Drastan walked with Guy to the door of the apartments that had been Vaisey’s; on the new sheriff’s orders, the servants had already cleared them of his execrable predecessor’s personal belongings and carried his from the apartments he had formerly inhabited, which were now appointed to the new deputy.

The two friends parted ways, agreeing to meet again at dinner. Guy entered his rooms and Drastan walked back, heading for the apartment to which he had appointed. In the antechamber, in front of the blazing fireplace he found a wooden tub – actually, little more than a vat – already half full with hot water, and a handmaid, pretty and red-haired, was pouring another bucket. She was bent forwards over the tub and Drastan enjoyed the view of her rear curves, which he could guess under the simple skirt of rough cloth.

Hearing the door closing, the girl turned to look and, seeing him, she hastily put down the now empty bucket and curtsied.

“Bath’ll be ready in a minute, Sir Drastan”, she said, stating the obvious, “D’you have any preference for the oil’s scent?”

“White musk”, Drastan answered after a moment. The young maid smiled, revealing a lovely set of teeth:

“Aye, I have that. I’ll get it at once, with some more hot water.”

Drastan nodded; as the lass left, he headed for the bedchamber, where he found his trunk. He opened it, taking out clean clothes; back to the antechamber, he placed them on one of the chairs. He took off jacket and shirt, hanging them on the back of the other chair, then he sat and began to unlace his dusty boots.

He was struggling with the second boot when the maid returned. Seeing him, she immediately put down buckets and oil vial to run to him.

“Let me help you, Sir Drastan”, she offered.

“Thanks, but I’m used to do it myself”, the blond knight answered, slipping off the boot and tossing it next to the other one.

“But ‘tis my job!” the girl protested, “At least, let me rub your back...”

Something in her voice made Drastan’s ear sharpen; he looked at her and he noticed she was staring at him in a certain way. He smiled, and she returned his smile.

“Very well”, the knight said, “but only if you bathe with me.”

The girl’s eyes sparkled: it didn’t happen often to combine business with pleasure, meaning earning a few coins giving pleasure to such a handsome man.

“Very gladly, sir....”

Drastan had no intention to take advantage of a maid, but it had been her to offer herself spontaneously; besides, he had expressed himself in such a way that she could have backed out, if she wanted to. She hadn’t, and therefore he wouldn’t hesitate to enjoy the pleasurable company.

“What’s your name?” he asked her, beginning to untie his breeches.

“Elsa...”

Later, Elsa left Drastan’s rooms very satisfied, not only in economic terms, but also in personal ones: she had earned the equivalent to a month’s pay, and on top of that, the handsome blond knight had taken care to give her her pleasure, besides taking his own. Bathing had never seemed so agreeable to her.

OOO

In his own rooms, Guy, too, was intent on his bath but, unlike his friend, he was alone. Daisy, the maid who had brought the water, hadn’t been surprised when he had dismissed her: though he was no monk, Sir Guy seldom asked for _special_ services. Walking downstairs to go back to the kitchen, the young woman pondered: with his handsome appearance, Guy was not short of offers, not at all, and the few females who had been accepted said that he was quite a good lover, unexpectedly kind and attentive – the opposite of Vaisey, brutal in bed as much as in any other place – and this increased his charm. Many girls amongst the servants sought his favour, for the economic advantage that would come with it, but it was well known that the new sheriff was obsessed with Lady Marian of Knighton, even if this hadn’t prevented him to initiate a relationship with a servant named Annie, who had given him a son. She and the baby were then vanished into thin air; probably, the knight had found them a home elsewhere, maybe marrying off Annie to a craftsman or a farmer in exchange of a substantial sum of money. Daisy frowned: regarding Lady Marian, what about her? She had left with Sir Guy and Lord Nottingham, now it had become known that the latter had died during the return journey, but the knight’s beautiful and elusive flame, where was she? Many had expected her to return as his wife, and instead no-one knew anything about her; as no-one knew anything about Robin Hood and his companions, vanished at the same time...

Daisy shrugged: it wasn’t her call to question the behaviours and reasons of the nobles, even less judge them. If she was still in the land of the living, and so Robin and the others, sooner or later they would hear about them.

In the antechamber of his apartments, Guy slid into the water, fragrant with the soothing scent of lavender, and propped his back against the wooden frame, covered with a linen cloth, and closed his eyes, trying to relax; but behind the black screen of his eyelids, Marian’s face materialised, as he had seen it the last time, in that dusty square in the centre of the abandoned village in the Holy Land. A face where he had seen pain, incredulity and anguish; a face that haunted him since then, joining the series of other faces of people he had wronged or hurt. They were many, too many.

Guy gave a start and sat upright with such a sharp movement that water almost overflowed the rim of the tub. He would never forget the words Marian had thrown to him, when he had once more proposed to her: she would rather die than become his wife, because she loved Robin and would always love him. Distraught and beside himself with rage, Guy had brutally seized her, raising his sword, ready to kill her; Marian had reacted, starting to fight furiously, trying to disarm him, with the determination and bravery that had enabled her to become the Nightwatchman, who had given him the hardest time for years. In the frenzy of the scuffle, however, his sword had ended up between them and all of a sudden she had staggered backwards, collapsing on the dusty ground, a large bloodstain on her belly. Guy had looked at her in horror: had it been him? Or had it been her who, in the convulsion of the struggle, had stabbed herself on it? Never would he forget the gaze she had cast him, full of pain, incredulity and fear. Guy had moved one step toward her, but at that moment, Robin Hood and his men had arrived, ready to kill him. Vaisey had called for him to run and he listened to him, abandoning Marian without knowing if she would survive the terrible injury. He thought it unlikely: he had seen enough injuries like that to know that there was very little chance, if any.

Guy dropped his hands back into the water and closed his eyes again; he felt as if a boulder was crushing his chest. He had killed the woman he loved only because she didn’t return his feelings. But one doesn’t kill the person he or she loves, right? Therefore, he wondered, had he ever actually loved her? After all the times he had let her trick him, use him, manipulate him, hoping blindly she could return his love, after he had even been ready to die beside her, he couldn’t believe it. And yet, there was no other explanation. His mother had always told him that loving someone meant wanting his or her happiness, even at the cost of one’s own; but he had gone the other way: from a certain moment on in his life, he had cared only about his own happiness, even at the expense of others. Now that he was aware of this, he despised himself.

Could he change?

He wasn’t sure; however, it was precisely for this reason he had accepted the position as pro tempore sheriff of Nottingham without hesitation. Not for the unbridled ambition which had him giving his sister Isabella to Sir Thornton as a wife, in exchange of enough money to equip himself in a decent manner and go to some powerful noble to offer him his services. Heeding no one, silencing his conscience, he had accepted Vaisey’s proposal, promising him money, power and – if he proved himself worthy – even land. Only now Guy realised that the evil baron had simply exploited him, leveraging on his ambition, inducing him to do horrible things for as long as he had stayed in his service; Guy had tried to soften his most brutal actions, making something somehow wrong so that those who should be affected could run or get away in some other way, or even hoping in Robin Hood’s intervention with his gang. Like when he had _abandoned_ his son Seth in the forest, in an area he knew for certain that Hood and his men scoured; he would come back to check on him a few hours later, but the newborn had been found almost immediately and the skirmish with the bandits had been orchestrated so that they could escape with the baby. When Annie had disappeared, he had looked for her and, once tracked her down, he had begun sending her regularly money, anonymously. He couldn’t acknowledge the child, not until he had the chance to marry and have legitimate children; but now he had irremediably lost Marian, the woman he loved.

Or he had believed he loved. Because, if his mother was right – and he didn’t doubt she was – he had actually never loved Marian, he repeated to himself again. He had seen her like a ray of light in his gloomy life, or like an angel who could save him from the ultimate perdition. When he had discovered she was the Nightwatchman, he had protected her from Vaisey’s retaliations and deluded himself that she, out of gratitude, would finally willingly accept to become his wife; instead it never happened, and at her last, definitive rejection, he had killed her. He was horrified by his own behaviour.

Now he had the chance to act with justice and equanimity, precisely in the places where he had acted iniquitously; but nothing could mend the evil he had done to so many people. He would give his soul to make it happen; but he had no soul anymore, he had sold it to the devil named Vaisey and he would never have it back.

The weight on his chest became unbearable and Guy bent forward, gasping, almost unable to breathe for the anguish he was feeling. For most of the time, he was able to keep it at bay; but sometimes, when he was alone, the pain became simply unbearable. Usually it happened when he went to bed, and then he fisted the sheets, his muscles agonizingly tense, until he fell asleep, sleeping in a heavy sleep, pitifully devoid of the nightmares that often haunted him, making him see Marian dying, stabbed by his own sword.

Slowly, the weight crushing his chest gave way and he breathed normally again; he straightened his back, and he realised that the water was now just lukewarm. Therefore, he hastily passed the sponge all over his body to cleanse his skin, then he immersed completely to wash his hair, too. At last, he stood up and proceeded to dry himself with the linen cloths Daisy had left for him on the small table next to the tub, then he got out of the water and called for the servants, so that they would carry everything away. Daisy arrived at once and began to empty the tub using two buckets; when only a couple of inches were left on the bottom, two male servants came and lifted the tub, carrying it away, and the girl collected the towels, sponge and everything else.

Meanwhile, Guy had retired to his bedchamber and had pulled out clean clothes from his trunk. When he walked back in the other room, as usual dressed in black, nobody was there, everything was in perfect order and on the stone floor fresh straw had been spread.

After a quick glance around, Guy left, heading for the great hall to dine.


	4. Chapter IV

Chapter IV

Chapter IV

Chetwood Manor, a few days later

“This beer is awful”, Rebelle declared, pulling a disgusted face. She had just came back after a quite intense training session and, before going taking a bath, she had asked for some beer cool from the cellar, which Mary had quickly brought to her. Violet, who was going over the books of the estate, while sitting at the table in front of the fireplace in the dining room, lifted her gaze to her cousin.

“Really?” she enquired. The younger woman nodded emphatically and handed her the pewter mug she was holding:

“Taste it yourself…”

Violet took the mug and sniffed carefully, then, still not content, she sipped the beverage and pulled a face, very similar to Rebelle’s.

“Good heavens, it tastes of rotten eggs!” she cried; she placed the mug on the table and stood up, heading for the kitchen with Rebelle on her tails, “Mary, from which barrel did you tap the beer for Lady Isabelle?” she enquired. The maid looked at her, a little surprised by the question:

“From one of the new supply Jack had taken home from Nottingham last week… Something’s wrong?”

“’Tis not good”, Violet answered concisely.

“To say the least”, Rebelle muttered, having downed a large gulp and still felt the revolting taste in her mouth.

Mary signalled to the scullery boy to come near.

“Bob, run and get Jack”, she instructed him. Shortly after, Jack Knowles came to Violet and Rebelle, who had returned to the dining room.

“Good afternoon, Lady Violet… Lady Isabelle…”, he greeted them, “Mary told me that there’s trouble with the beer, but I assure you I tried it, before the purchase, as I always do.”

“I’ve no doubt about it, Jack”, Violet reassured him, trusting the superintendent completely; “Did you try the beer Mary tapped?”

“Not yet. I was thinking about going down to the cellar and check out all the barrels, if ‘tis alright for you, so I can see which ones are bad and tomorrow I’ll take them back”, he slanted his eyes, “I must say I disliked completely that Alfred, Thompson’s new helper: he had something… smarmy, if you know what I mean”, he added pensively.

“Didn’t the master brewer serve you?” Rebelle enquired.

“No, lady, he told me he had gone to Mansfield to look for a new supply of malt. Alfred made me taste the beer of one lot, I found it adequate and I took all the six barrels. But apparently the contents of at least one has gone bad, but I must check the other ones, too.”

“Do it”, Violet exhorted him, “and then let me know. Tomorrow I’ll come with you to Nottingham, ‘tis market day and I want to buy cloth for a new shirt for my father, and mayhap also for a new jacket.”

“Very well, lady”, Jack said, bowing to take his leave, “I'll proceed with the checking.”

It turned out that four of the six barrels contained bad beer.

“We’ll take them back and get them replaced”, Violet decided with no hesitation, “We have paid for good beer, for pity’s sake!”

“I’ll come with you”, Rebelle offered, “If this Alfred underestimates you because you’re a woman, he’ll deal with me.”

“Not knowing you, he could underestimate you too”, Violet chortled.

“In this case, he’ll have two nasty surprises for one”, Rebelle smirked. The two cousins laughed heartily, and that was how Sir William found them. 

“What’s so funny?” he asked smiling, getting near his daughter and his niece.

Rebelle told him about the beer and the elderly nobleman scowled:

“I’ve known Thompson for all his life: he’s always been an excellent brewer and it looks very odd to me that he offers bad beer on sale.”

“I suspect that ‘tis this Alfred’s fault”, Violet commented, “Jack said he didn’t like him at all.”

“Tomorrow we’ll see”, added Rebelle in a grim voice.

OOO

Early in the morning, Violet, Rebelle and Jack left Chetwood Manor, escorted by three guards, heading for Nottingham. Violet rode a beautiful Arabian mare, whose snow-white coat had earned her the name of Snowflake, while Rebelle mounted a black Friesian called Blackfire; Jack instead drove the wagon, on which the four bad beer barrels had been loaded; two sturdy bay geldings pulled the cart.

They needed about one hour to get to Nottingham, at the rather slow pace of the wagon. When they arrived at the entrance of the walled town, the sentinels exchanged greetings with Jack, whom they knew well because he came to town at least once a week, and threw only a brief glance to his two escorts: Rebelle didn’t arouse much curiosity with her male outfit, because they had seen her before, while Violet was simply a lady on a horse, elegantly dressed in the way one could expect off her social standing, her wide blue gown draped on the horse’s back and covered by the heavy cloak of purple velvet with woollen lining.

First thing first, they headed for Thompson’s brewery, located in the northern part of the town; halting in front of the stone-and-wooden building, the two women got off their horses, while Jack remained on the cart, waiting, and the three guards stopped their horses behind him.

“Good morning, sir… I mean, lady”, said a young blond man, appearing on the threshold, addressing Rebelle, then he saw Violet too, “Lady… My name’s Alfred, how can I help you?” he added in a servile tone.

Both women felt an immediate aversion for him and his attitude, sharing Jack’s impression.

“Good morning”, Rebelle answered briskly, “We want to talk with Master Thompson.”

“My master is busy at the moment”, Alfred informed them with a smirk that he wanted to be cordial, but that looked derisory to Violet, indisposing her even more toward him.

“I’m sure he’ll find the time to talk with me”, she said in a sharp tone, “Tell him that Violet of Chetwood has come to make a complaint on behalf of Sir William.”

“I don’t think that…” Alfred began, but he broke off abruptly seeing Rebelle turning and showing off the sword hanging from her belt, as she placed a hand on the sheath to hold it in case she had to draw her weapon, “…he’ll mind, in this case”, he hastily finished the sentence, changing completely what he had been wanting to say. With the slightest of bows, he vanished inside the building. 

The two women exchanged an amused glance, then they waited; shortly after, Thompson arrived.

“Lady Violet! Lady Isabelle!” he greeted her, smiling, “How nice to see you! But Alfred mentioned a complaint?” he asked, putting on a worried face.

“I’m afraid so, Master Thompson”, Violet answered kindly, “Our Jack, a few days back, came here and purchased six barrels, but four of them contain bad beer.”

Thompson glowered; it took him only a moment to come to a conclusion.

“Alfred!” he bellowed; when the young man appeared on the threshold, he glared at him, “Didn’t you try the beer, before selling it?”

“Of course, master! I made even the peasant try it and he said it was good!”

“Good was the one from the barrel you tapped it from”, interjected Jack, who had dismounted from the wagon to come up next to the women, “but I couldn’t know about all six.”

Thompson nodded to show he had heard and addressed Alfred:

“I told you several times you have always to check the content of all the barrels, before you sell them to anyone…”

“But I cannot try them all, master… or else I’d end up drunken long before night!” the helper protested. Thompson didn’t appreciate the interruption, as the deepening of his already frightful frown demonstrated:

“You don’t have to _drink_ , you idiot! Smelling is enough. A good brewer smells immediately if there’s something wrong”, he shook his head, “Why do I even talk to you? There are two cases: either you’re a terrible brewer, or you’re a rogue trying to swindle one of my best clients. In both cases, you’re fired.”

“But…”

“Shut up!” Thompson bellowed, losing his temper completely, “I already wasn’t much happy with you because you didn’t show much talent for this job, but this is really too much. Get your stuff and get lost, _now_!”

Violet was about to protest, not wanting to be the cause for anyone’s losing his job, even a swindler, but then she thought better of it, considering that Thompson had hinted to a lack of talent. Maybe it was better that Alfred looked for another kind of job.

The young man shut his mouth and straightened his shoulders, trying to put on an air of offended dignity, then he turned and disappeared inside the building, apparently to get his stuff.

Thompson addressed again his clients.

“Of course, I’ll replace the spoiled beer with the best quality I have”, he declared, “and I’ll add two barrels to apologise about what happened.”

“I accept the change”, Violet said, “but not the addition: after all, it wasn’t your fault. And the culprit had already paid adequately, I’d say”, she added, nodding towards Alfred who was exiting from the brewery with a bundle in his arms, his mouth reduced to a thin line showing an indignation that, in Violet’s opinion, he had no right to feel.

Thompson waited until Alfred was far away along the road, then he called two lads to unload the barrels from the cart, replacing them with other ones containing his best beer, which he of course checked personally. He tried again to insist to add two more barrels, anxious to please one of his oldest clients, but Violet refused again firmly.

Things settled in the best possible way, Violet and Rebelle got on their horses again to head for the market, while Jack would return to Chetwood with the wagon and the three guards. The two women left their mounts at the public stables, located at a short distance from the main square where, twice a week, the market took place, and walked the rest of the way.

The place was unusually crowded, both for customers and for some more booths.

“Good morning, Lady Violet”, Meg, the fruiterer greeted her, “Good morning, Lady Isabelle. You heard the news?”

“What news?” asked Rebelle, amused – Meg was known as quite a gossip, “Ron caught again Jenny sleeping with the miller?”

“Nay, this time ‘twas the smith”, Meg grinned, talking about the libertine coppersmith’s wife, known for having given herself to a great number of men both before and after her wedding, “but I was referring to something else. The baron’s dead!” 

For a moment, neither Violet nor Rebelle could utter a word.

“Are you sure?” Violet enquired, frowning, “Or is it only rumoured?”

“Absolutely sure”, Meg affirmed, not offended by the noblewoman’s mistrust because aware of the difference between gossip and proven news, “Sir Guy himself has told it to Gilbert. He also told him that Prince John appointed him, Guy of Gisborne, as acting sheriff until King Richard’s return, who’ll have to confirm his position or give it to someone else.”

Violet and Rebelle exchanged a glance.

“I need a glass of wine”, said the warrior maiden, grasping her cousin’s arm. It was inappropriate for a noblewoman to go into a tavern, but, except that she had never cared a bit, there were booths in the market where they could find wine and beer, and Rebelle headed for one of these stalls, taking Violet with her. They sat on one of the trestle tables and the warrior maiden signalled to the woman behind the counter to bring them two glasses.

When they had taken a sip of the served wine – poor and even watered-down, but still cheering – the two cousins looked at each other.

“Vaisey dead”, Violet mumbled.

“And Gisborne sheriff, even if only pro tempore”, Rebelle added, “We could have fallen out of the frying pan into the fire.”

“Let’s hope not”, Violet nodded; she squeezed harder he humble terracotta beaker she was holding, while reasoning on the implications and consequences of this new situation, “Jeffrey”, she said, “We must inform him. He must return. He cannot stay in the Holy Land anymore, risking his life: before he was the heir to a small fief, but now he’s the heir to a barony. Even the king will agree, he cannot let the fief of Nottingham staying vacant.”

“But how can we do it?” Rebelle wondered. Violet thought quickly.

“I’ll send a message to Queen Eleanor. She has the means to get the news to King Richard, and he will inform Jeffrey.”

“Brilliant idea”, the younger cousin approved, “Let’s hurry on for those cloths and then let’s go home at once to inform Uncle William about this thing.”

Violet nodded to show her agreement. While they were finishing the wine, they heard a male voice addressing them cheerfully:

“Two such beautiful women drinking all alone, how’s that possible?”

Turning their heads, they saw a young man, tall and blond, coming towards them, smiling, his azure eyes, a little almond-shaped, full of open admiration. Rebelle felt breathless for a moment: he was the most handsome man she had ever seen.

Violet recognised immediately the man accompanying him, equally tall but more long-limbed and dark-haired; Guy of Gisborne was a boy the last time she had met him – since she had returned to Chetwood, she had the chance to see him only a few times and always from afar – but his eyes were the same, of such a light nuance of blue that it blended into grey, perennially grave and shaded with melancholy. Now they were hard and cold, but for a moment, while they set on her, they showed an abyss of sorrow that pierced her like a stab. It was only a moment, then his gaze returned icy.

The two of them stopped beside the table and the blond man went on:

“’tis nicer drinking in company”, he turned to the booth holder, “Girl, a carafe of wine, but it has to be high quality!”

A glance to her cousin’s surly expression confirmed to Rebelle that Violet didn’t appreciate the young man’s behaviour.

“Nay, thanks”, she said therefore, signalling negatively to the woman behind the counter, “We were leaving.”

He could even be the most handsome man she had ever seen in all her life, but she found his arrogant confidence hateful and she wouldn’t allow him to treat her and her cousin like peasants. And yet, they must have noticed Violet’s fine dress, which showed her as the noblewoman she was; and even if Rebelle was wearing a man’s attire, her clothes were clearly of high quality.

“Oh, come on, we only want to drink in the company of two beautiful ladies”, the blond protested.

“Leave them alone, Drastan”, Guy intervened, “’tis apparent that the two ladies don’t appreciate our company.”

“Precisely”, Rebelle confirmed, standing up, “So, if you’ll excuse us…”

She moved to leave the table, but Drastan barred her way. She saw his gaze drop on the sword hanging at her side.

“Lo and behold… an armed maiden”, he observed in a tone halfway between mockery and surprise, “But do you know how to use it, at least?”

Rebelle’s eyes reduced to dangerously gleaming slits as she placed her hand on the hilt.

“You can find out at your expense, sir, if you want it so badly”, she challenged him in a dull voice.

Violet jumped on her feet, alarmed, but Guy preceded her:

“Stop, both of you”, he admonished them, “Drastan, don’t insist”, he went on, before turning to Violet, “Please, forgive my friend’s manners: sometimes he forgets how ladies of your station have to be treated.”

The young woman passed her gaze from Guy to Drastan, staring at him with a frown that didn’t promise anything good.

“I will forgive him, if he has the kindness to apologise personally”, she said in a freezing tone.

Drastan hesitated, then he realised he had gone too far; but the maiden in men’s clothes had struck him and he had charged off, not considering the fact that, in all likelihood, she was a noble-born like the lady she was evidently escorting. He took a step backwards, away from the object of his interest.

“I humbly apologise, my ladies”, he said sincerely, bringing one hand to his chest and bowing his head in a contrite way, “I’ve been blinded by your beauty and for a few moments I ranted.”

Guy refrained from rolling his eyes: Drastan was capable of fawn over a pretty woman even when he had to apologise for having annoyed them!

But it took far more than that to placate Rebelle, used to deal with soldiers.

“Be less cocky and more gentleman: you’ll achieve more”, she growled. In response, Drastan just looked amused:

“I’ll try to follow your advice, lady…?”

“Rebelle of Rivendale”, she introduced herself without thinking.

“Actually, that would be Lady Isabelle of Rivendale”, Violet corrected her, “And you are…?”

“Drastan of Greenmere”, he answered, bowing formally to both women, “Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to?”

“Violet of Chetwood”, she answered, but in telling this, she turned her eyes to Guy, to see his reaction: would he remember her?

Even if his face remained impassive, Guy’s eyes showed clearly his surprise, then a corner of his mouth rose in a smirk.

“Now I understand why you look so familiar, lady”, he said, “Guy of Gisborne… I hope you remember me”, he added, as he took her hand and bowed, staring at her. Under the intensity of his gaze, Violet felt her heart jolting.

“Of course, Sir Guy”, she affirmed, and was annoyed to discover that her voice trembled slightly; she cleared her throat, “As I remember that you very much liked my apples, especially the red ones.”

Before he could control it, Guy’s smirk broadened to a full smile; it lasted only a few moments, then it returned to the earlier crooked grin.

“They’re still good”, he declared, “How’s Sir William?”

“My father’s fine, thank you”, Violet answered, “And now, if you don’t mind releasing my hand, I’d like to continue visiting the market.”

Guy kept his gloved fingers around hers.

“Of course I mind”, he murmured; he was surprised by this remark, more suited to Drastan than to him, “but I won’t be so rude as to prevent you from your purchases”, he hastily added, releasing her hand and taking a step back.

Violet nodded to take her leave, then she turned to her cousin, only to find out she was glaring at Drastan, while he was returning her stare in a swaggering attitude, arms crossed on his chest.

“Rebelle, let’s go”, she called. The younger woman turned away from the duel of stares with Guy’s blond friend and nodded.

“I’ll come and see your father soon, Lady Violet”, Guy declared, and at her confused glance he explained, “In my capacity as pro tempore sheriff, I plan to visit all the nobles of the county.”

Again, Violet nodded to show she got it.

“Congratulations for your appointment”, she said, then, with Rebelle following her, she set off, quickly disappearing in the crowd.

Guy and Drastan followed them with their eyes.

“What spitfires they are”, the blond man said, grinning, “Rebelle… a name that suits her perfectly, I daresay. I wonder if in bed she prefers being under or on top of her man?”

“Quit it, Drastan”, Guy chastised him, “You’re talking about a noblewoman. If I remember correctly, Isabelle of Rivendale is Sir William’s younger sister’s daughter.”

“So they are cousins, then”, Drastan mused, not at all impressed by his friend’s reproach, “’twill be easier to go see and seduce them…”

“I’ve no intention to seduce anyone”, Guy grumbled.

“You mean, you wouldn’t give a thought to pretty Violet? I don’t believe it!” Drastan cried, “Or mayhap she’s married and you’ve got scruples?”

“No, she’s a widow”, the black-clad knight answered; even if he had no chance to meet her, he knew that her husband – Roganton, he thought he was called – had died two years before and Violet had thus returned to Chetwood.

“A widow? Then she’s surely in need of someone filling the emptiness of her bed…”

“I told you to quit it”, Guy growled, in a dangerous tone that made Drastan realise he had truly exaggerated, and that, too, he had hit a nerve there: it was apparent that Violet represented something to him.

“My apologies”, he said, earnestly for once, “I didn’t mean any harm. You know how I am, when it comes to ladies.”

Guy sighed and relaxed his hands, which he hadn’t realised he had made into fists.

“Nay, _my_ apologies”, he muttered, but without offering any explanations. Drastan knew that, with his shut-in character, Guy wouldn’t speak spontaneously and that he had to drag it out of him.

“What is she, for you?” he asked in a low voice.

“Nothing”, Guy answered, a little too quickly, Drastan thought.

“You wouldn’t react this way, if she really was nothing, for you”, he insisted, “Am I wrong, perhaps?”

Guy considered lying to his friend, but, unlike with any other in the last twenty years, their relationship was based on sincerity and true fondness. He sighed again.

“Nay, ol’ chap, you’re not wrong”, he admitted, “When I was a boy, Violet and Robin were always together playing and doing mischief… well, that was only Robin, actually, she regularly got him out of trouble. Isabella, too, played with them, sometimes. I accompanied her, but I kept by myself. Violet brought Chetwood apples for afternoon snacks and shared them with everybody, even with me, even if I weren’t exactly part of their group. Robin always made fun of me, but she, instead, she was kind”, he smiled slightly, “She was… a sunray in my life”, he finished.

“Were you in love with her?” Drastan enquired, still in a low voice. Guy frowned.

“Are you kidding? She was a baby!”

“I see… but it looks to me that you keep fond memories of her.”

“Fond?” Guy shrugged, “I don’t know.”

Drastan kept silent for a few moments while they resumed their walk, passing amongst the stalls that they glanced casually.

“What do you know about Rebelle?” he enquired then, wanting to know more about this unusual girl-in-arms, “You said she’s Violet’s first cousin…”

“Aye, she is. I know she was orphaned of both parents a few years ago, and as she was an only child and there was no immediate family, Rivendale passed to the Crown, waiting for her to get a husband. This looks unlikely to me, as she seems much preferring weapons over household chores.”

“Yeah; I wonder why her father before and now her uncle have allowed her to devote herself to the steel sword instead to the fleshy one…”

“You’re incorrigible, Drastan!” Guy snorted, however he was unable to feel amused by his friend’s impertinence, “’twas _you_ who just said that we men have no right to demand that a woman lives her life as we want and not as _she_ wants it?”

“True”, Drastan admitted, grinning, “but a warrior woman is surely unusual. And so pretty, moreover”, he added, recalling Rebelle’s face, “and with a good figure, too”, he concluded, this time recalling the shape of her body, emphasised by the tight men’s clothing she was wearing.

“Violet, too, is very pretty”, Guy observed absent-mindedly. Drastan’s smile widened:

“Ha, so she _has_ impressed you!”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Guy snorted, “I simply used my eyes. I can consider a woman beautiful without her necessarily impressing me!”

“Are you serious? So why ‘tis the first time I hear you appraising a woman?”

Not knowing how to refute, Guy just glared at his friend, but Drastan knew him too well to feel intimidated. However, he was aware he had struck again a nerve and thought it wise not insisting.

Meanwhile, the two young ladies subject of their cogitations were walking amidst the crowd, heading for the stall of the merchant from whom Violet usually purchased the cloths.

“That insolent Drastan!” Rebelle cried, annoyed, “If Sir Guy hadn’t intervened, I would’ve showed him who can use a sword here!”

“I have no doubt”, Violet nodded, “but I’m glad Guy stopped the two of you. You could have been hurt, you know?” she added in a slightly rebuking tone, under which Rebelle could guess her apprehension about her cousin’s safety.

“You don’t need to worry about me”, Rebelle answered, touched by Violet’s concern, “I know how to take care of myself.”

“I’m well aware of that, but this doesn’t exclude you being hurt... and then I’d be supposed to patch you up!” Violet concluded, shaking her head: it had already happened a few times, since she had been back to Chetwood, when Rebelle suffered minor injuries during her training, or another time during a fight against some bandits on the road to Calverton.

“And there’s no one else I’d trust more”, the warrior maiden declared, flashing her an affectionate smile. Violet rolled her eyes, pretending exasperation, but she couldn’t be mad at her cousin for being the way she was, so she returned her smile.

“Thanks, but I think Matilda is better than me”, she affirmed, referring to the midwife and herbalist living in Sherwood Forest; she didn’t say it out of humility, but because she believed it.

“Regarding the midwife part, sure she is”, Rebelle conceded, “but regarding healing injuries, you’re unbeatable, and you’ve got a knowledge about herbs that has nothing to envy to hers.”

“However, it seems to me that I’m constantly learning new things, reading and re-reading my mother’s books”, Violet observed, dubious.

“I, too, am constantly learning new techniques and new moves”, Rebelle promptly replied,

“There’s _always_ something more to learn.”

They remained silent for some moments, while making their way across the crowd to the cloth merchant’s booth; then the younger spoke again:

“That Drastan! I’ve never met such an arrogant, presumptuous, intolerable, annoying and... insolent man! I would’ve gladly smacked him for the way he dared to address us!”

“Guy called him to order, and then he apologised in a satisfactory way, I’d say”, Violet considered, a little surprised of the emphasis she was hearing in Rebelle’s voice.

“Aye, of course, using the excuse our beauty made him temporarily lose his mind... even in his apologies, he found a way to flirt with us! What a nerve!”

Violet thought that the heated way her cousin was insulting Drastan was suspiciously exaggerated.

“Why are you so mad? The handsome fair-headed gentleman impressed you so much, you cannot get him out of your head?” she asked in a slightly teasing tone.

“It takes a lot more, to impress me, than a pretty face and two compliments”, Rebelle snorted, “Anyway, I wonder who the heck he is and where he comes from... Greenmere, did he say? Never heard about it, and you?”

“Neither I”, Violet admitted, increasingly amused by her cousin’s attitude: she had never seen her so taken by a man, despite her claiming him irritating.

Meanwhile, they had arrived at the merchant’s booth, and in the following half an hour, Violet was busy in choosing the cloths she wanted. Then they went back to get their horses, packed the cloths in their saddlebags and mounted, heading for the city gates. Just out of town, they spurred their horses to a light trot, alternating it with stretches at a gallop, wanting to reach Chetwood Manor as soon as possible to break the unsettling news they had learned.


	5. Chapter V

Chapter V

Chetwood Manor, four days later

Rebelle watched the arrow in the exact centre of the target. Its white fletching was still trembling because of the force of the blow.

“My compliments, Violet”, she smiled, “Mayhap you’ll never be as quick as Robin, but for sure you’re in no way inferior to him as being a good shot.”

Violet considered her small, light bow pensively. The bow, as a weapon, had always fascinated her, but she had begun training in archery only after having come back to Chetwood, partly because she wanted to emulate her old friend, and partly because she was encouraged by the fact her cousin was an accomplished warrior. Showing a great natural talent, Violet had soon surpassed her instructor, but she was aware of a certain lack, which made her shrug.

“My shots may be accurate, but they’ll never be very strong”, she observed; Rebelle used a larger and more powerful bow than hers, and obviously Robin Hood’s was even more.

“An arrow, if well-placed, kills a prey or a man regardless of the power it had been shot with”, Rebelle objected, raising the tail of the notched arrow to her cheek to take aim; she held her breath for a moment, then she let go of the string. The arrow landed next to her cousin’s, just outside the exact centre of the straw target.

“With this, you’ve beaten me seven out of ten times”, she announced, smiling. She didn’t mind Violet being better than her in archery: after all, she was a swordswoman than even Robin had never been able to defeat during the times they had trained together.

Violet was dressed in an old reddish-brown gown, its skirt shortened on the front up to her knees as not to be in the way. Underneath, the knee-high boots she wore were visible as she walked up to the target and pulled off both arrows, storing them in the quiver. Long leather gloves protected her arms and fingers from the friction of the bowstring.

Rebelle had followed her and now checked the state of the target: it began to be a little worn, but she judged it still fit enough.

“How much time do you think it will take for the Queen’s messenger to get to the Holy Land?” she asked Violet in a low voice.

“At least one month”, her cousin answered with a sigh, “Fortunately the good season is coming and the crossing shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Let’s hope he’ll make it quick”, Rebelle concluded.

They were going back to the mansion, the still stringed bows on their shoulders and quivers on their backs, as they saw two riders coming, one dark-haired and the other fair, mounted upon two black chargers. Rebelle took her bow off her shoulder, more out of habit than for real need, because the two, even if they looked intimidating, didn’t seem threatening.

“He _said_ he would come to visit us”, Violet commented under her breath, recognising them, then she went to meet the newcomers, “Good afternoon, Sir Guy, Sir Drastan”, she welcomed them with cool courtesy.

Guy leapt to the ground and addressed a bow to Violet.

“Good afternoon to you, lady”, he replied; casting a glance to the bow hanging from her shoulder, he lifted an eyebrow, surprised, “I never knew you were an archer.”

“And she’s very good, too”, said Rebelle briskly from behind Violet, having heard him.

“As good as you, Lady Isabelle?” Drastan enquired, still sitting on his horse. The maiden lifted her eyes to look at him.

“Nay, better”, she declared curtly. Unperturbed by her clearly off-putting attitude, Drastan hopped off the saddle and jumped theatrically on the ground, showing a nimbleness unexpected in a man of his size.

Rebelle was impressed, but her face didn’t show and she concentrated again on Guy and Violet, who were speaking again.

“As I promised you, I came to pay my respects to Sir William”, the black-clad knight said, taking off his gloves. _And to you_ , he added, but only in his thoughts. Seeing her, he realised, cheered him up because she reminded him better times, when his mother was still alive and his sister’s laughter filled the house, and the only thing that troubled the atmosphere was the concern about his father, who was fighting in the Holy Land with King Henry II during what would later be known as the First Crusade. Without being aware of it, his face softened in the hint of a smile.

Seeing the slight ascending curve the corners of his mouth had taken, Violet thought she liked him; she hadn’t expected this because Guy, along with Vaisey, was Robin Hood’s most fierce antagonist, while Robin was her dear childhood friend, whom she had actively protected several times after her return to Chetwood.

“How kind of you”, she said in a slightly warmer tone, but still very formal, “You can tie your horses over there”, she added, showing them the wooden hitch in front of the stables, a few yards on.

Guy gestured to Drastan to follow him and the two tethered their horses before going after Violet, who was heading for the entrance of Chetwood Manor. Rebelle came last in the little procession, staring at Drastan’s back. Of course, she was watching him to keep an eye on him, not because he had broad shoulders and a slim waist giving his back a striking V-shape... and he had a really nice arse, highlighted by those tight breeches...

Realising she was insistently staring at the brawny shape of the blond man, Rebelle hastily took her eyes off it, frowning: good heavens, this wasn’t the first time she had seen a handsome lad, so what was wrong with her?

Violet’s mind instead was absorbed in completely different thoughts: Guy had told about a courtesy visit, but given the history, she thought it more likely this was about something else, as for instance the announcement of some new tax he had come to collect. Chetwood was richer than other fiefs, but it hadn’t unlimited resources, and if so far they had lived in relative tranquillity, it had been because they were protected, through Adèle, by the Queen Mother, who not even the ruthless Vaisey dared to challenge openly; but who knew what Guy’s opinion was about this? Violet pressed her lips together as she climbed the steps to the entrance: in case of need, she would turn to Eleanor, imploring for her help, which she would certainly not deny.

Guy followed Violet with his eyes as she ascended the eight steps leading to the raised floor of the mansion; as he went after her, he admired her elegant gait, her slim waist, her hips slightly swaying under the folds of the skirt, suggesting sweet curves...

He stopped abruptly this train of thoughts, not wanting them passing from inappropriate to indecent. Violet deserved the highest respect, not only because she was a noblewoman, but also because she had always been kind to him when they were children. He didn’t want to behave with her as he had behaved with Marian, whom he had often treated in a deplorable way, even forcing her to agree to a marriage she didn’t want, not mentioning the fact he had been on the verge of killing her... No, he didn’t want to think again about this. Guilt tormented him already enough by night; during daytime, he had to remain clear-minded and concentrated on his duties as a sheriff.

As Violet opened the door and entered, with Guy right behind her, Drastan stopped by the staircase and turned to Rebelle.

“After you, Lady Isabelle”, he invited her in an impeccably courteous tone and attitude. Too impeccable, she thought, suspicious. Maybe he wanted just look at her behind. She therefore declined his invitation:

“You go first, Sir Drastan.”

“I insist”, he said, with a smile that would melt the snow and that took her breath away. _Damn you_ , Rebelle thought.

“I insist, too”, she growled, stubbornly. At this point, Drastan couldn’t dig his heels or he would look impolite.

“As you wish, milady”, he gave in, “but it seems to me very discourteous passing before a lady.”

“I’m not interested in this kind of fuss”, she declared brusquely, “Move! We’re making everyone wait.”

Drastan, admitting she was right, nodded in agreement and turned, hurrying upstairs; Rebelle followed him quickly.

In the hall, Violet had just sent Simon for William.

“Please, take a seat”, she invited the two guests, preceding them into the sitting room, “Would you like a drink?”

“Thank you”, Guy immediately accepted, “I’d very much like some of your famous cider.”

“I, too”, Drastan spoke up. Violet turned to May, who had arrived with Simon and was awaiting orders.

“Get some cider for everyone, please; for my father, too.”

As a hostess and a woman, Violet sat first and invited Guy and Drastan to do the same. They seated themselves on the heavy wooden chairs around the table, on the side that was next to the blazing fireplace.

“Sir Drastan, may I ask you where Greenmere is located?” Violet asked, both for small talk while waiting for William, and for true curiosity.

“Not far from Lancaster”, he answered, “right at the foot of Clougha Pike”, he added, referring to the high hill dominating the landscape behind the capital of Lancashire, “A very pleasant place, but I’ve never been back since I left it in search of fortune. Being the youngest of six siblings, ‘tis unlikely I’ll inherit something from my father”, he shrugged, “I hope my services, sooner or later, will earn me a small estate where I may retire with a wife and children, one day.”

He suddenly realised that, in just a few sentences, he had summarised his life and his ambitions, telling them to two strangers; thus, he shut up, casting a glance to Rebelle to see her reaction. Why did he expose himself so much? By declaring himself a penniless knight, he couldn’t hope to impress her; and yet, his guts told him that only sincerity would pique this unusual warrior maiden’s interest, who declared to loathe fuss and – as he had ascertained asking around – was more interested in weapons than in love.

“I don’t see you married with wife and children”, Rebelle declared in a sceptical tone. Drastan thought he couldn’t blame her, considering that so far he had acted like a womaniser.

“Well, certainly not anytime soon”, he conceded, “For now, except the lack of an estate, I want to enjoy life.”

At that moment, Mary came in carrying a tray with five cups and a carafe. Having been informed about who the guests were, Maud had decided to tap personally the best Chetwood cider. Behind the maid came William, who marched toward Guy. As a sign of respect to the senior knight, the new sheriff stood up, and Drastan did the same. 

“Welcome to Chetwood Manor, Sir Guy”, William said in a courteous but reserved tone.

“Thank you, Sir William”, Guy answered, “Let me introduce you to my deputy, Drastan of Greenmere”, the blond knight made a slight bow, “We’re here to pay our respects.”

William bowed his head to show acceptance, then he took his seat at the head of the table. The two guests sat again while Mary placed down the tray and began to pour their drinks; as soon as she was done, she curtsied and left.

William took a cup and waited for the others to do the same.

“I was told you’ve been appointed sheriff”, he said, raising his glass to Guy, “Congratulations.”

His tone was neutral and therefore Guy couldn’t determine if he was speaking out of formal courtesy or if he really meant it. The first one, he decided: after all, they hadn’t had any kind of relationship since he and his sister had been forced to leave Gisborne and then, when he had returned four years ago, in Vaisey’s service, they had never had the chance to meet.

“Thank you”, he said with equal formality, raising his glass to return the toast, “but ‘tis a temporary position: ‘tis King Richard’s place to confirm it or to give it to someone else, after his return.”

William nodded, then he drank, as did the others.

“Excellent”, Guy declared, savouring the dry and slightly sour taste of the beverage, then he turned to Drastan, “You won’t find better ciders throughout England than those produced in Chetwood, my friend.”

Drastan smacked his lips in an appreciating gesture.

“Definitely excellent, you’re right. What kind of apples are these, Sir William?”

“A combination of three varieties, to obtain the right balance between sweetness and sourness”, William answered, then he cast an inquiring glance at Guy, “Forgive my frankness, Sir Guy, but I have some difficulty believing you’re here only for my cider.”

“Actually, ours is just a courtesy visit”, the sheriff reassured him, “Drastan and I are making the rounds to all the nobles of the county to introduce ourselves. Of course, with the opportunity we can also speak about possible problems with the brigands infesting Sherwood, such as Robin Hood…”

Violet bit her tongue so as not to rise in defence of her childhood friend: Robin of Locksley was no brigand, he had been outlawed because he had defied the old sheriff, but he still remained the Earl of Huntingdon.

“We have our guards to defend ourselves”, Rebelle intervened, “but Robin Hood never bothered us, mayhap because we treat well our peasants, unlike some people”, refusing to feel intimidated at Guy’s surly glance, she went on unfalteringly, “You’ll surely have noticed that Hood and his comrades steal from the rich who treat poorly their subjects and give food and money to those who have been robbed of everything or have not enough to eat.”

“This doesn’t justify his thefts at the expense of royal tax collectors or merchants!” Guy replied harshly.

“Of course not”, Violet intervened promptly: this was dangerous ground and it was better to stop the discussion immediately, “Isabelle wanted only to point out the fact we are capable of defending ourselves. That Hood never bothered us is perhaps just a coincidence. Of course, should we need assistance, we’d straightaway notify you, Sir Guy”, she concluded in a sensible sounding tone; under the table, she touched Rebelle’s leg with the tip of her toe so that she would realise she hadn’t to push it. More impulsive than her, her cousin risked getting them into trouble by openly defending Robin’s actions.

Rebelle got her hint and added nothing more, simply crossing her arms, defiantly.

His attention drawn by Violet’s voice, Guy turned to her and nodded.

“I count on it”, he said, “The safety of Nottingham’s roads is one of my priorities, as well as a fair taxation. In this regard, I inform you now that I have no intention to raise tributes, but to redistribute them in a different fashion. Those who have more will pay more, vice versa, those who have less will pay less, and to those who are struggling will have the opportunity to postpone the payment or to pay little by little; but nobody shall evade the payment, let me be clear”, he concluded firmly.

Rebelle noticed at that moment that Drastan was ogling her. Realising that her crossed arms were pushing her breasts upwards, pressing the mounds against the tunic she was wearing, she immediately uncrossed them, her ears burning out of rage: what impudence, staring at her that way!

But was rage what she was truly feeling? Or wasn’t it rather excitation? Did she like it, Drastan ogling her that way? As if he wanted to devour her… but not in a literal sense. A hot shiver ran down her spine: she recalled the whispered tales of the servant girls regarding how their lovers kissed and caressed them, and if she had so far never wanted to experience personally too intimate kisses and caresses, the reason was that she was waiting to meet a man who would inspire her enough… Could she feel attracted to Drastan? Well, he looked certainly fine, but as for the rest, she thought him insufferable; even if, to be honest, earlier he had revealed something very different of himself, talking about his desire to settle down with a family… but then he had promptly shoved it aside and minimised it. She felt confused, and this was a feeling she detested.

Her fiery glare had Drastan looking away, not because he was embarrassed at being caught staring at her curves – he never got embarrassed about anything, it was _he_ who got _them_ embarrassed – but because he wanted to prevent a possible ferocious reaction from Rebelle’s part, who was very capable of gouging out his eyes, he was sure of it. Heavens, how much would he enjoy taming this wild filly… but at the very moment he was formulating this thought, the suspicion aroused in his mind that, instead, _she_ would tame _him_. The idea froze him, and at the same time, it excited him. Confused, and totally unaware that Rebelle was undergoing the same trial, he completely turned away from her and looked at Guy and William, still talking. 

“If people are given a chance to pay, they will”, the elderly knight of Chetwood was saying, “Reluctantly, sure – nobody pays taxes gladly – but pay. Instead, if their business is destroyed and they are ruined, everyone will come up empty, both the tax collector and the Crown.”

It was a reproach, not even that much subtle, for the senseless politics Vaisey had conducted in the years since King Richard had left for the Crusade. More than once, Guy found himself having to tear down a mill or set fire to a potter’s shop because the owners weren’t able to pay the exorbitant tributes the baron had imposed, and therefore he understood perfectly what William meant.

“I agree”, he answered, glowering, “but who’ll ask me for a deferral must demonstrate his willingness to pay, keeping up the instalments, or else he’ll receive a punishment.”

“But it you imprison someone, the said someone won’t be able to pay anyway”, Violet observed, raising an eyebrow.

“And he won’t be punished with imprisonment, but he’ll pay half of his profits until he settles his debt. As an incentive, he’ll receive a good lashing on the public square. I think it will suffice.”

Hard, thought Violet, but not nearly as harsh as Vaisey’s ferocity. Maybe, after all, there _was_ truly hope she would find again the Guy she used to know in her childhood, the sober and solitary boy, gloomy perhaps, but certainly not cruel. His ruthless behaviour while he was at the baron’s service looked now more than ever the result of the obligation of the obedience a vassal owes to his master and not a choice of his. For she had never heard he had revelled in inflicting pain as did, instead, the old sheriff. 

“Therefore, following your idea, the wealthier will pay a larger percentage than the poorer?” William enquired; at Guy’s assenting nod, he went on, “And how will you determine the wealth of each one?”

“I appointed Morton, the collector, to take a census of all estates. Therefore expect his visit in the next weeks, accompanied by Drastan and possibly even by me.”

Of course, the Baron of Nottingham would have a list of each noble’s estates, as well as of the possessions of farmers, craftsmen and traders; the census served only to check if the books were up to date. Some land or building could have been sold or bought too recently to have been already recorded.

“You thought about it thoroughly, I see”, William commented.

“Quite enough, with Drastan’s help” Guy admitted, nodding to his friend and number two, “I found much common sense, in his suggestions.”

Rebelle almost snorted, incredulously, but checked herself as not to be judged rude to a guest. Drastan, having common sense? She couldn’t believe it… On the other hand, however, Guy surely didn’t easily praise someone, therefore he had to believe it.

“Common sense is a rare commodity, these days”, Violet commented. She, too, was struck by Guy’s statement.

The new sheriff nodded to confirm his agreement, then he emptied his goblet of cider and stood up.

“We thank you for your hospitality”, he said, “I hope to see you soon in Nottingham, mayhap in occasion of the Easter fair, in a fortnight.”

“There are several tournaments and jousts”, Drastan said, “We could compete in a swordfight, Lady Isabelle. Or, if you prefer, chess.”

Rebelle shrugged:

“I haven’t the necessary patience to play chess, I prefer a swordfight and a horserace”, she threw him a defiant glare, “I won both competitions for the last three years.”

“Then I’ll be all the more honoured to confront you in a single combat”, the blond knight declared, slightly bowing.

“And you, Lady Violet?” asked Guy, looking at her, “Will you try your hand at archery?”

“Aye, I will. Last year I had much fun and therefore I’ll do it again.”

“She’s too modest to tell you that last year she finished fourth out of fifty-two participants”, Rebelle intervened, always proud of her cousin, “but in my opinion, this year she’ll be the winner.”

“Unless Robin Hood shows up in disguise”, Guy commented tartly, remembering how, one and a half years before, the outlaw had tricked everyone in a tournament that Vaisey had organised in an attempt to catch him.

“She could defeat even him”, Rebelle declared with confidence.

“Let’s see”, Violet said, standing up and cutting off the discussion, which could again turn on a dangerous ground. She crossed over to the door to precede the guests on the way out, “Thank you for your visit, Sir Guy and Sir Drastan”, she went on, “If you like our cider, we sell it in casks of one, five and ten gallons.”

“I will surely send for some”, Guy assured her; he addressed a bow to William, taking his leave, then he headed for the door. Drastan bowed in turn to William, then he cast a glance to Rebelle, but she stayed seated, ignoring him. A little annoyed, the young man followed Guy and Violet.

After taking their leave from her, the two friends headed for their horses. They got into the saddles and left, trotting on towards Nottingham.

Drastan was unable to stop thinking of Rebelle; he still felt displeased because of the way she had visibly ignored him when he had taken his leave.

“That little she-devil!” he finally snorted. Guy cast him a startled glance:

“Who are you talking about?”

“Rebelle, of course… Lady Isabelle”, the fair knight self-corrected, “She didn’t even look at me when I left!”

“You’re not used to being ignored, ha?” Guy teased him, grinning, “I think this time you met your match, old man…”

In another moment, Drastan would play the braggart, declaring there was no lady who could resist him, but Rebelle’s refusal had brought out another side of him, the side he hid under his easy-going appearance and that had surfaced for a moment when he had talked about his wish to start a family.

“I’ve never met such a woman”, he declared, “Strikingly beautiful, but indifferent to her appearance to the point she wraps up in men clothes, clearly well-mannered but rough. She prefers swordfights over chess, and she seems disinterested in men!”

Guy got distracted at the first part of his friend’s tirade, thinking he would never describe Rebelle as _strikingly beautiful_ , not as much as Violet… He frowned. When did he ever describe a woman as _strikingly beautiful_ who wasn’t Marian?

Drastan noticed Guy’s lack of attention.

“Hey, old man, are you listening to me?” he called, bringing him instantly back to the present. Drastan he grinned, “Is there any chance you were thinking of Violet?” he teased him.

Caught red-handed, Guy reacted with impatience.

“So, what if I was?!”

In response, Drastan just guffawed:

“If you were, I’d give you some good advice to help you find your way under her skirts.”

“I already told you not to speak that way about Lady Violet!” Guy growled, “You think I’m not capable of doing it by myself?” he added then, piqued, “I had my share of women, you know. Mayhap the list isn’t as long as yours, but surely I hadn’t taken a vow of chastity!” 

“I don’t doubt any of your affirmations”, his friend placated him, “Actually, my only advice is to be less sulky, smile more and be more affable. Women love those who make them laugh, not those who make them cry or frighten them.” 

Guy felt a blow in his heart. That was the very reason he had never been able to win Marian, not even when Robin was far away in the Holy Land: instead of gaining her trust, her friendship, her affection, he had tried to prevail on her, to have her to marry him, by blackmail and even by force. He wouldn’t treat Violet this way, he vowed to himself. Then he frowned. How could he even consider another woman after Marian? He felt ashamed, even more than earlier. His mother was completely right; he had never truly loved Marian. He had only used her, clinging to the idea that she could be his salvation when instead salvation could come only from himself, from his own actions. He should have had the courage to break free from the yoke he had imposed on himself entering Vaisey’s service and trying another way to win land and honour like Drastan was doing, for instance. He sighed: after all, it was what he was trying to do now as the new Sheriff of Nottingham: behave with justice and honour, in the hope his sins would be forgiven and that an exemplary service would gain him at least a small estate where he could retire to, when he would grow old. Assuming, that is, he would be able to reach such an advanced age to need retirement, which wasn’t granted at all.

Drastan heard him sigh and equivocated:

“Are you thinking of Violet’s beautiful eyes?”

“Nay!”

“You mean she hasn’t beautiful eyes?”

“Of course she has beautiful eyes! Would you please stop this nonsense? I wasn’t thinking of her!”

“Alright, alright, don’t lose your temper! Heck, there would be nothing wrong with thinking of her…”

Guy pressed his lips: it wasn’t fair, being mean to Drastan. After all he couldn’t know about his unforgivable behaviour towards Marian.

“I apologise”, he muttered, “I… have my reasons to be very reluctant in getting involved with a woman. Please don’t insist.”

Drastan was silent for a few moments, pondering his friend’s words. They met when they were little more than kids; they served together for three years as squires of the Baron of Cumbria, before being appointed knights. In the time they had spent together, they had grown very close, becoming real brother-in-arms and saving each other’s life several times. Then, Guy had left the service, looking for better fortune with other noblemen until he had committed himself to Vaisey in the express intention of winning back the Gisborne lands and rebuild the estate. He hadn’t succeeded, but maybe he was not so far now that he had been appointed ad interim Sheriff of Nottingham. Drastan hoped sincerely he would succeed. He admitted this could favour himself and his desire to earn in turn a small estate, but this didn’t prevent him wanting the best for his friend. However, he didn’t understand Guy’s reluctance to settle down with a woman. After all, if he would regain his Gisborne, he should think about an heir…

“I don’t understand your attitude”, he said in a low voice, “Violet is very beautiful, rich, and free Your reasons must be very grave that you prevent yourself from wooing her.”

“They are, believe me”, Guy affirmed in such a bitter tone, that Drastan felt a pang in his heart.

“So why did you say you hope to see her at the Easter Fair?” he asked in a perplexed tone, sincerely confused. Guy shook his head:

“Pure courtesy, and anyway I wasn’t speaking only to her alone, but also to Sir William and Lady Isabelle.”

Hearing Rebelle’s name made the blond knight’s thought fly back to her.

“Well, I hope I’ll have the chance to duel with Isabelle”, he declared, “Mayhap I’ll earn her respect and admiration, if I defeat her.”

Guy addressed him a crooked smile:

“What if ‘tis her, defeating you?”

“That would happen only between the sheets should she prove too insatiable”, Drastan grinned.

Guy burst into laughter:

“Always the rascal, heh?”

“Absolutely!” Drastan confirmed, laughing in turn.

Having recovered their good mood, the two friends spurred on their horses and galloped towards Nottingham.

OOO

“Looks like a quite encouraging beginning”, William commented, as Violet came back to the hall after having walked Guy and Drastan to the door.

“I agree”, she said, sitting back in her chair, “It is a sign of farsightedness he has no intention to increase taxes and allow payment in instalments or deferrals.”

“Even if he wants to _encourage_ the payment with floggings on the public square?” Rebelle interjected in a sceptical tone.

“Vaisey did even worse things”, William reminded her quietly, “such as cutting off tongues, chopping off hands and burning down workshops.”

The maiden curled her lips in a grimace, then shrugged:

“You’re right, Uncle. In comparison, floggings are a rather mild _encouragement_.”

The elderly nobleman stood up.

“I’m going back to take inventory of our supplies with Simon”, he announced, “See you later, ladies.”

As soon as they remained alone, Rebelle turned to Violet.

“Did you notice what an insolent lout he was, that Drastan, even today?!” she burst out, “I truly hope he’ll challenge me for a duel, at the Easter Fair: I’ll gladly beat the hell out of him!” 

Like a few days before, her emphasis made Violet rather perplexed.

“I don’t think he behaved ill-mannered, this time”, she observed, while a suspicion came to her mind, “Tell me, do you find him so disagreeable, you want to humiliate him?”

“Humiliate?” Rebelle repeated, frowning; she hesitated one moment, then she answered, “It wouldn’t be humiliating, if we fight in a loyal and correct way, by the rules of the chivalry duel and he’d lose.”

“What if _you’d_ be the loser?”

“’Tis not going to happen.”

“Don’t be arrogant, now: it doesn’t suit you. You have no idea of his skill level. The chance of losing _exists_ , like it or not.”

Rebelle was about to protest vehemently, but paused, acknowledging her cousin was right: there’s _always_ a chance of losing, in a fight, be it verbally or physically.

“Well, anyway, I have no intention of _humiliating_ him”, she declared, “But if I can teach him a lesson, I won’t mind, I admit it.”

Violet leaned back on the chair and crossed her arms, smirking.

“Is there a chance that, rather than disagreeable, you find him so attractive, he confounds you? And mayhap, instead of a fight-match, you’d prefer a kissing-match?”

“What? Absolutely _nait_!” Rebelle denied furiously; she saw Violet raising an eyebrow, “You’re kidding me, I don’t like Drastan at all!” she reiterated.

“It was you who said, the other day, he has a handsome face”, her elder cousin reminded her.

“And he even has a striking behind”, Rebelle let slip, “Hum…”

Violet burst into laughter.

“Come on, Rebelle, Drastan is objectively a fine man, there’s nothing wrong in admitting it. Guy, too…”

She stopped abruptly mid-sentence, shutting up. Rebelle glanced at her, raising an eyebrow like Violet had done earlier.

“Oh! Lo and behold… my disdainful cousin who detests men admits that there’s one she finds attractive?”

“I’m not disdainful!” Violet flared up.

“True”, Rebelle conceded, “but you look down on all men.”

“How’s that, they’re all taller than me!” Violet protested, referring to her rather minute stature, equal to her mother’s.

“I didn’t mean it that way and you know it”, Rebelle replied vivaciously, planting her hands on her hips. Violet was silent for a long moment, eyeing her cousin with a dark glare.

“I know”, she finally admitted under her breath.

“Why do you detest men?” Rebelle enquired; a grimace ghosted briefly across Violet’s beautiful face and the warrior maiden realised something she had never realised before, “You don’t detest them… you’re afraid of them.”

“Nay”, Violet protested.

“Aye, you are. Now I can see why you never speak about how your husband was in bed, and why you don’t want to remarry. What did he do to you? Was he violent?”

Violet sighed: Rebelle had figured everything out, it was useless continuing to deny; besides, she didn’t want to lie to her younger cousin.

“Not exactly”, she said in a low voice, “He didn’t care. He took me whenever he felt the urge, mounting me as a stallion mounts a mare, with no tenderness, regardless if it was pleasurable or painful for me. He beat me up only once, when I tried to refuse him because he was hurting me. He said that it was my duty to spread my legs and get pregnant. That he had married me only for this reason and that, if I’d bore him a son, then he would leave me alone. Thus, I never rebelled again”, she uttered a sound full of bitterness, “When he realised I wasn’t getting pregnant, he began to sleep with other women, too. If nothing else, he stayed away from my bed even for weeks.”

Rebelle was speechless. She had guessed something was wrong, but she would have never believed it had been so bad.

“So it never was pleasurable, for you?” she asked for confirmation, speaking softly.

“Never. In time, the pain diminished, but it was always uncomfortable. Burning.” 

“Because he didn’t get you ready enough”, Rebelle commented. Violet eyed her:

“What does a virgin maiden like you know about such things?”

“Chatters among servant girls… and soldiers. I know what happens between a man and a woman, I even saw it once, when I ran into Mary and her husband having fun in the hayloft.”

“Good heavens… and you didn’t feel embarrassed?”

“A little, but only for having involuntarily spied on their conjugal intimacy. What’s there to be embarrassed? Isn’t it something simply normal and natural? There’s nothing to feel embarrassed in eating or sleeping, is there?” Rebelle concluded, shrugging.

Violet shook her head:

“That’s right, but when something involves emotions and sentiments, it becomes a little more complicated than _simply normal and natural_. ‘Tis also about reciprocal respect.”

“That’s why you always talk about respect”, Rebelle realised, “So, to win your heart, a man must first show respect to you.”

“Yea, but not the formal respect men usually give to women, I want true respect, respect for me as a person, for my sentiments, my wishes, my opinions, my ambitions, my brains. I doubt such a man exists”, she concluded, “and therefore, I prefer not remarry. I’ll stay under my father’s and Jeffrey’s protection as long as I live.”

“You don’t have to remarry, to find pleasure in a man’s arms”, Rebelle observed, “Not even Queen Eleanor remarried, after good King Henry’s death, but she didn’t deny herself other lovers, after she became a widow.”

“I’m not the Queen, but, what’s more important, I’m not interested. I don’t want to lie with a man ever again, plain and simple”, Violet declared firmly.


	6. Chapter VI

Chapter VI

Nottingham, April 10th, 1194, morning

Violet entered the church, wearing her best attire: a gown in dark red velvet, with white sleeves and a white cape, both decorated with fine golden trimmings. Under it, she was shod with knee-high boots, because after mass, she would take part in the archery tournament and she would lift the skirt in the front, tucking the rim in her belt, so it wouldn’t hinder her. Her father William leaned on her, advancing a little unsteadily, but smiling at all his acquaintances while they greeted him.

Behind him, as usual serving as an escort, marched Rebelle, very elegant in a tunic of dark blue velvet with white embroideries, matching breeches and brown boots, and a cloak the colour of chestnuts. They had come with their carriage for William’s comfort, but the women had taken their horses, too, so that the elderly knight could go back to Chetwood whenever he wanted, while the two cousins would remain for the competitions and the subsequent dances in the main square.

Following the custom, women took their seats on one side of the nave, while William joined the men on the other side, sitting next to Sir George of Humberton, an old acquaintance of his. Violet greeted Lady Christine and her sister Aline, daughters of Sir Robert of Crandon, and sat with Rebelle on the hard wooden pew. Looking around with idle curiosity, she spotted almost immediately Guy of Gisborne and Drastan of Greenmere who, still standing, were surrounded by several people and towered over everyone with their remarkable stature. Following the direction of her gaze, Rebelle, too, saw them.

“Oh, there’s the sheriff and his deputy”, she muttered. Almost as if hearing her, Drastan turned, sweeping his gaze over the crowd, and Rebelle hastily looked away; but Violet’s cape stood out in the multitude and the blond knight spotted her easily. He said something to Guy, then he moved towards them; but the priest chose that very moment for his entrance, therefore Guy grabbed Drastan’s sleeve, motioning him to take his seat in the pew reserved for the Baron of Nottingham; in his absence, the two of them would use it. After casting another glance to Rebelle, who ignored him ostentatiously, Drastan obeyed.

When the long Easter mass was over, according to the protocol everyone should wait for the baron to leave first with his suite, but being there was no baron, there was a moment of uncertainty, which Guy and Drastan put an end to by standing up and heading towards the exit, walking along the nave nodding to the present nobles.

Violet and Rebelle stood up and waited for William to join them, but the sheriff and his deputy arrived first; neither of them halted so as not to show favouritisms that could produce envies and competitions to win Guy’s benevolence, as it had happened with Vaisey – but Drastan threw an ear-to-ear smile to Rebelle, to which she answered with a freezing gaze, while the black-clad knight nodded courteously to Violet, gaining back an equal nod.

A few moments later, William joined his daughter and his niece, and together they left in the same order they had come in.

Once in the churchyard, they met Guy and Drastan.

“’Tis a pleasure to see you again, Lady Violet, Lady Isabelle and Sir William”, the sheriff said, bowing slightly to them while his deputy did so in turn.

“Our pleasure, Sir Guy, Sir Drastan”, William reciprocated, greeting them with a nod, “Will you take part in some competition, as well?"

“I will, in the sword tournament and in the horserace”, Drastan answered immediately, casting a meaningful glance to Rebelle, “Ready for the challenges, Lady Isabelle?”

“Of course I am!” she answered boldly, “And I intend to win in both!”

“So do I”, the fair-haired knight grinned.

“Well, it will be interesting watching you, then”, Guy commented; his voice contained an equal measure of irony and amusement, “And you, Lady Violet, will you compete with your bow?”

“Exactly”, she confirmed, nodding, “And you?”

“Being the sheriff, ‘tis advisable that I don’t. Besides, I’ve never been fond of competition, of any sort: I rather go for the true thing.”

“I see”, the young woman commented; actually, she didn’t remember having ever seen him compete, even if he was an excellent rider and a superb swordsman.

Because of the high place of his office he thought he should avoid competing, fearing people might feel intimidated, or letting him win in order to gain his favour – it was best he didn’t participate.

“Will you watch my event?” she enquired.

“Definitely, as I will do with all the other ones. I will personally present the prizes, at the end, _in absentia_ of someone who will claim the title of Baron of Nottingham.”

Violent said nothing, but exchanged a quick glance with his father: it was apparent that Guy didn’t know about the family relationship they had with the late sheriff. Technically, William could come forward and claim the title, but he preferred to wait the return of his son Jeffrey, who would take it in his place when William would formally relinquish it.

Guy turned to the elderly knight:

“Sir William, would you like to come to my stand and watch the contests?”

Violet’s father didn’t conceal his surprise.

“I thank you, Sir Guy, your offer is very courteous, but I don’t want to impose…”

“One more chair is no trouble”, Guy assured him, “Join me whenever you like. My page will let you in.”

Bowing slightly, he and Drastan took their leave.

As they strode away, the blond knight commented amused:

“Nice strategy, Guy: cosying up to the father to reach the daughter.”

Guy snorted:

“’Tis just courtesy toward an elderly knight who distinguished himself in King Henry’s service. Once, Sir William was a valiant warrior.”

“Aye, of course, you do it out of pure kindness, not because you want the beautiful Violet to like you as you hope to slip under her skirts…”

Guy’s eyes threw daggers at him:

“Stop it! I will not tolerate your lack of respect for Violet!”

Drastan raised his hands in a surrendering gesture:

“Alright, alright… but I’d like to point out to you that this being constantly ready to battle in defence of the lady’s honour only increases my suspicions. Come on, admit it, old man: you fancy her…”

“Of course I fancy her!” Guy growled, “She’s very beautiful, clever, fierce…” _and as a child, she was kind to me_ , “Why should I not fancy her…?”

Drastan got the impression that there was a slight touch of sadness hidden under Guy’s aggressive tone; no, not sadness… despair. Why on Earth should Guy feel desperate? He had not even begun to woo Violet, so it couldn’t be he was despairing for he had never been refused. However, Drastan chose not to investigate. He didn’t want to risk changing Guy’s mood, as he was already disinclined to cheerfulness. A smile ghosted over his lips as he considered how much different they were, in appearance and in character. No one would wager a nickel on their friendship, instead it had subsisted through the years and it resurfaced the moment they had met again, just a little over one month before when Guy had come back from a not clearly defined mission in the Holy Land in the service of the Baron of Nottingham.

Hence, he changed subject:

“I want to make a personal bet with Lady Isabelle”, he announced, “If I win, she’ll give me a kiss.”

“And what will you offer her, in case _she_ wins?” Guy asked, sceptically, “It has to be something very alluring, otherwise she’ll laugh in your face and won’t accept the wager.”

“I’ll offer her my sword.”

“Which one? The one you carry between your legs?” Guy asked, sarcastically.

“Well, I’d love very much to slide it into her _warm sheath_ ”, Drastan chuckled, “but should I make such a suggestion to her, I’d risk finding myself castrated. Nay, I’ll offer her the dagger my mother gave me, small and handy, very suitable for a woman.”

“You’re crazy!” Guy cried, staring at him dumbfounded, “That Damascus steel blade is worth a fortune!”

“Not more than certain jewels for which other damsels, without a second thought, would give _themselves_ , not just a kiss”, Drastan replied, shrugging, “That dagger is perfect, for Isabelle.”

Guy was silent for one long moment, as they approached the stand from which they would watch the contests.

“Something tells me that you’ll lose on purpose”, he muttered. Drastan frowned.

“Aye, I thought about it”, he admitted, “but I better not. Should Isabelle realise it, I’ll lose every chance to win her respect.”

His friend looked at him in surprise:

“Since when are you interested in winning a woman’s respect and not only her body?”

Again, Drastan shrugged.

“Isabelle is different”, he explained, “She’d give herself only to a man she admires, and she’d admire a man only if she respects him.”

“How do you guess that? You don’t know her.”

“Actually, ‘tis weird, and I cannot explain it, but I feel like I’ve known her forever”, Drastan declared softly.

Both remained silent until they reached the stand; Guy instructed his page to bring another chair for Sir William, then they took their seats.

Meanwhile, Violet, William and Rebelle had returned to their carriage, where their servant, John stood guard.

Here, Violet discarded her elegant white mantle and untied the sleeves of her gown, then Rebelle helped her to put on new ones in brown cloth. Violet slipped on her long leather gloves, then she tucked the rim of her skirt into her belt, exposing her knee-high boots. She wrapped herself in a cloak of simple dark green wool; finally, she shouldered her quiver full of arrows and grasped her bow, which she had to string.

“Ready”, she announced. Together, the three set out again; once they had reached the open space where the archery tournament was to be held, William headed for the stand where Guy and Drastan were already seated while Rebelle accompanied Violet to the contest director.

“I’ll gladly teach a lesson to that bragging Drastan”, Rebelle snorted, recalling the blond knight’s boastful words.

“Unless ‘tis him, teaching a lesson to you”, Violet giggled, “He’s a remarkably big man.”

“I’ve already defeated men as big as he”, Rebelle reminded her, proudly, “They never expect me to be so fast and nimble: they do all underestimate me.”

“Allowing yourself to be underestimated is your strategy”, Violet considered, amused, “Your adversaries feel overconfident and so they commit imprudence, you take advantage of it and defeat them. They take you too lightly, even when they know you, and Drastan does _not_ know you.”

“I take advantage of their arrogance, which make them believe a woman cannot beat them”, Rebelle commented, “Who’s overconfident, ends up badly, my first master-at-arms used to say.”

“This applies to everyone”, Violet pointed out to her, “to you, too: don’t be too confident you can defeat Drastan.”

Rebelle opened her mouth to protest, but then, realising her cousin was right, shut up and simply nodded.

Violet told her name to the contest director, who scribbled it on a scroll where he would also write down the score of the different shots until he would announce the winner. The prize was an arrow in silver inlaid with gold. The director told her that among the competitors were other two women.

Guy saw Violet arriving on the contest ground, her elegant red dress transformed into a more practical outfit with different sleeves and the skirt tucked in her belt. Unintentionally, his gaze dropped to her legs, exposed to the knee but covered with boots. Under the rim of her skirt, he glimpsed breeches hugging her thighs, and Guy’s mind flew to impudent fantasies when, for a moment, he imagined those same thighs bare, wrapped around his waist in a fiery intercourse. He chased away that image. He couldn’t reproach Drastan of lacking respect, and then do it himself! Yes, it was happening in the private space of his mind, but it was equally inappropriate. And anyway, he refused to believe he had already forgotten Marian and the feelings he had had for her. Maybe it hadn’t been true love but, given what he had done to her, he thought he owed her at least a little of belated devotion.

At that moment, Sir William arrived. The page offered him a seat to the left of Guy, where he had placed the additional chair.

“Thank you again for your hospitality”, the elderly knight said, taking his seat, “Ah, there’s Violet!” he cried, smiling with fatherly pride as he gazed at his daughter, “I’m sure that this year, too, she’ll do herself credit.”

“Lady Isabelle claimed to be sure she would be the winner”, Guy commented, “In this case”, he pointed to the arrow, which his page had already placed next to his seat on a cushion of red silk, “I’ll be more than happy to award her the prize.”

“I think her chances are good”, the elderly knight nodded, “She trained hard and has become a truly excellent shot.”

Turning, Violet noticed her father sitting next to Guy and waved in their direction, and all three men reciprocated her. Rebelle, standing at her side, nodded towards them, just because she didn’t want to look rude, and then stepped aside, joining the audience in order to watch her cousin’s competition. Noticing it, Drastan felt annoyed with himself because he hadn’t thought about asking her to come to their stand when Guy had invited William of Chetwood; but now it was too late.

Violet took her place in front of the row of targets and, following the example of the other competitors, she stringed her bow, skilfully using a stringer. Then, she awaited her turn to shoot the first three arrows, which resulted in two dead centres and one slightly to the left. She easily passed the first round, which eliminated half of the competitors, among them one of the other two women. She passed effortlessly the second round, too, this time with five shots. Now only ten archers were left, she as the sole woman.

“She’s truly doing herself credit”, Guy commented, “She has a flawless technique.”

“Rebelle is an excellent instructor”, William declared, “I mean, her cousin Isabelle”, he added, realising he had called her with the nickname they used at home and thinking his hosts didn’t know it.

“Why do you call her Rebelle?” Drastan enquired, even if he could easily guess the reason.

“Because since she was a child, she hated rules”, William answered, half amused and half resigned, “Not all of them, only those which prevented her from doing something just because she was a woman. My brother-in-law, who was very proud of her, indulged her instead of getting angry, and so she has become the skilled warrior-maiden she is today. Mind you, I, too, am proud of her, but I’m afraid I’m never going to find her a husband...”

Drastan was surprised by William’s words.

“Why not? She’s very beautiful, she’s surely healthy... Mayhap she has no dowry?”

“She’s got Rivendale, her father’s estate. Nay, ‘tis not because of this, of course. I’m referring to the fact she’s not the docile woman a man usually wishes for a wife”, he smiled, “Whoever thinks that way, has no idea what he’s missing: my wife Adèle had a strong character and we often fought because of this, but I was never bored with her and if I never felt the need for other women, in my life, ‘twas certainly because of this. Such a woman fills your heart and mind completely, but without making you a fool.”

“Interesting”, Drastan muttered, searching for Rebelle’s shape with his eyes; he found her instantly, because she hadn’t moved and was still in the front row, cheering each time her cousin hit the target and flinging at her encouraging words. How would it be, having such a wife? For sure, as William said, he wouldn’t get bored...

...but what was he thinking? A _wife_? Perhaps in ten years, now certainly not, and the fact she was an heiress didn’t change anything, he still wanted to have fun hopping from one bed to another... so why was it that, since he had met her, he hadn’t looked at any other woman? Not to mention taking a girl to his bedchamber? Not even Elsa, the pretty maid who had shared his bath once and had told him she was available for more, hadn’t elicited any interest in him. What was going on with him??

The four best archers, among them Violet, came to the semi-finals. Four targets were set up, where they were meant to shoot only two arrows. Violet and a man from Bonchurch reached the final, and again they would shoot only two arrows.

The man glared at Violet with ostensible aversion. Noticing it, Violet returned his glare cocking one eyebrow: maybe he hated the idea there was a chance that a woman could defeat him? Well, if it happened, he had to live with that, she thought, shrugging.

He was first at shooting: he hit the exact centre of the target with his first arrow, and the second pierced it at less than half inch distance. He cast a triumphant glance at Violet, sure that his victory was at hand.

In the stand, Guy bent forward to better see, holding his breath; William was gripping the chair’s armrests. Drastan, too, was feeling the tension of the moment.

Violet took place in front of her target. She would love to win, of course, but a second place wasn’t bad at all, she decided. There was always next year. The thought resolved the apprehension she was feeling. Relaxed, she bent her bow, searching with her gaze the centre of the target. There was a slight breeze coming from her right hand. She lined up her shot, held her breath, let go.

The arrow hit dead centre.

Violet heard Rebelle’s exulting shriek resounding a moment before the admiring shout of the crowd. Avoiding looking at her rival or at anyone else as to not lose concentration, Violet bent her bow again, aimed carefully, held her breath and shot.

The second arrow stuck to the first. It actually nearly knocked it off the target, planting itself in its place, a shot that was Robin Hood’s specialty; she, too, had been successful at it, a few times.

Rebelle leapt, giving a loud cry of triumph, and ran to hug her cousin. In the stand, Guy had barely stopped himself from springing up, striving to stand up coolly instead. He began clapping his hands as William and Drastan joined him.

The crowd was cheering loudly. Violet’s rival, vexed, hurled his bow to the ground and stomped away.

Violet turned to watch him, then calmly picked up the dumped bow and handed it to the contest director who had come to congratulate her.

“If he returns for it, please give it to him”, she said. The man nodded, taking the bow into his care: Lady Violet of Chetwood was a decent and amiable person, he thought, while the other contender had acted in a very rude way.

After a second hug with her cousin – who was enthusiastic about her victory of which she was partly to credit, having been her instructor – Violet headed for the stand where Guy stood waiting for her, the silver arrow in his hands. She climbed the three steps and curtseyed; he reciprocated with a nod.

“Congratulations, Lady Violet”, he said in a genuinely admired tone, “You’ were great. Lady Isabelle’s trust was well founded”, he concluded, holding out the prize to her.

“Thank you, Sir Guy”, she answered, taking the arrow. In doing so, she brushed his fingers and felt a tingle going up her hand. Confused, she lowered her gaze to the prize. “Striking”, she murmured.

“Drewmore made it, to my order”, Guy informed her, referring to Nottingham’s only jeweller.

“My compliments...”

“I’m proud of you, daughter!”

Her father’s voice saved her from her embarrassment; the elderly knight had risen and was now standing next to them.

“Thank you, Father”, Violet smiled at him as he hugged her.

Drastan, too, came to her.

“Truly outstanding”, he declared, bowing to her in tribute, “Lady Isabelle was right, telling us you would win.”

“Thank you, Sir Drastan”, Violet answered. Now that she had thanked them all, she thought she could go, “If you’d excuse me...”

“I’m coming with you”, William intervened, “I’m tired and I wish to go home now. I thank you again for your hospitality, Sir Guy. Violet, would you walk me to our carriage?”

“Certainly, Father, as I wish to change again and put on my shoes: later I’m going to dance!”

Adèle had always adored dancing and had handed down her passion to her daughter, along with her knowledge of herbal medicine. Guy saw his chance, so he jumped at it and said:

“Well, I hope I can get a few dances with you, Lady Violet. And of course with Lady Isabelle, too”, he added, afraid to look too obvious; but Drastan couldn’t be so easily deceived, as the grin he saw coming to his lips confirmed.

“There are still more competitions”, Violet reminded him, cautiously, “See you later, Sir Guy, Sir Drastan...”

With another curtsy, she left the stand; the throng awaiting her applauded again and several people came to congratulate her, even the two women who had taken part in the tournament.

Rebelle joined her uncle, who had in turn left the stand. Together, they waited so that everyone could finish giving Violet their praises, then the three of them headed for their carriage where John, the driver, waited patiently. Violet again put on the white sleeves and cloak, then she changed her boots for shoes that were more suitable for dancing. She kept her breeches on, because it would be too difficult to take them off here in the open. They were very tight-fitting and wouldn’t hamper her with her skirt, which dropped now again to her ankles.

“Have a good time, children”, William said, “but be wary, and come back before nightfall. Without Robin, the roads are less safe, despite Sir Guy’s good intentions.”

“Of course, Father”, Violet reassured him, smacking a kiss on his cheek, “we’ll be careful.”

John had already climbed on the carriage, so, as soon as the elderly knight got in, he cracked his whip and the horses obediently started to walk. With one last wave from the window, William took his leave of the two women.

“Let’s go and have a bite”, Rebelle suggested, “then I’m in the horserace.”

They went back to where the archery tournament had taken place. At that moment, the sling-shooting contest was going on. Among the participants were several lads, who were giving the adults a hard time.

Violet and Rebelle strode next to the sheriff’s stand, heading for the food stalls; noticing them, Drastan said a word to Guy, who turned and called them with a friendly wave.

The two women exchanged a quick glance. Refusing would be rude, so they joined the men who chivalrously stood up to welcome them.

“We’ll be honoured if you’d have lunch with us”, Guy invited them; he felt vaguely embarrassed: in the last years, he had _ordered_ rather than invited a woman to keep him company – even Marian, he admitted, ashamed – and therefore, following Drastan’s suggestion to ask Violet and Rebelle to share their meal made him quite uncomfortable. However, he had discovered he was eager to spend some time with the beautiful Lady of Chetwood and for this reason he forced himself to overcome his discomfiture.

Violet hesitated while considering the situation: it seemed to her that accepting would be improper, but she wasn’t alone, having Rebelle as an escort, therefore declining the invitation would be impolite.

“Thank you, you’re very kind, Sir Guy”, she therefore said quietly, with indifference. Her lack of enthusiasm disappointed the black-clad knight, but in all honesty he couldn’t blame her, considering the reputation he had built on himself during the years spent at Vaisey’s service.

“Eddie, one more chair”, he ordered to the page, increasing to four the chairs in the stand. “Then hurry to the kitchen and tell the cook we have two guests for lunch”, he turned again to the women, “It will be a simple meal, bread and cheese and some roasted meat. And...” his lips curled in one of his tiny smiles that made him look almost shy, “a pie with apples from Chetwood.”

Violet, too, smiled involuntarily.

“The red variety?”

“Precisely.”

“Actually, ‘tis the best, for pies.”

“A drink, Lady Violet? Lady Isabelle?” Drastan intervened, “Beer, cider, wine?”

“Water, for me”, Rebelle answered, frowning, “No strong drinks, before contests.”

“You’re right”, Drastan beat in retreat, “Better if I avoid it, too. Eddie, fetch us some water”, he added, turning to the page who had come back with the additional chair. The lad trod away at once.

“Please, take a seat”, Guy said, pointing to the chair next to his for Violet, where previously William had been sitting. The young woman sat down as did the sheriff. Drastan showed Rebelle to the just added chair, placed next to his and took his seat, so now they were all sitting in a single row in front of the competition grounds.

Presently, Eddie came back with a jug of cool water and two beakers, one for Rebelle and one for Violet. He poured the water for the younger woman and Drastan, then he gazed at Guy in question.

“Cider, for me”, the sheriff said, “Lady Violet?”

“For me as well, thank you.”

Eddie fetched the matching carafe and poured the golden liquid into goblets, then he took them to Violet and Guy.

“To your victory, lady”, Guy toasted.

“Thank you, my lord”, she answered before taking a sip. She recognised easily Chetwood’s best cider and was pleased.

“Lady Isabelle, I’d like to propose a challenge to you”, Drastan said meanwhile. Rebelle took a long draft of water.

“Really? And of what kind?” she asked; she was mistrustful, but intrigued, too.

“If I win the horserace, you’ll give me a kiss.”

For a long moment, Rebelle was at a loss in front of the impudence of this proposal.

“You’re a thug”, she growled.

“I know”, he replied cheerfully, “Are you not interested in what I would give you, in case _you_ would win?”

“Absolutely not…”

Rebelle stopped mid-sentence seeing the dagger that Drastan had unsheathed and placed next to her chair: on the blade, she could clearly see the winding lines indicating Damascus steel. It was a magnificent blade in its aesthetic simplicity and her eyes sparkled; Drastan didn’t miss it.

“So, what do you say?” he pressed her, holding back a smirk.

Rebelle could hardly tear her eyes away from the dagger so she forced herself to look at her interlocutor, measuring him up.

“A kiss in exchange for this superb weapon?” she asked sceptically.

“Precisely”, he confirmed.

“You seem very sure of your victory.”

Usually, Drastan would smugly answer affirmatively, but he had realised since he had first met her that this tactic was counterproductive if applied to Rebelle. Therefore, he simply shrugged.

“I’m sure it won’t be easy defeating you, my lady, but I’m determined to do my best.”

Rebelle thought it was the perfect opportunity to teach him a good lesson: she had defeated all her adversaries in the previous years’ contests and she saw no reason she couldn’t defeat him, too.

“Very well”, she said, “I accept.”

They sealed their agreement with a handshake. Drastan felt triumphant because he was sure he would overcome the beautiful warrior-maiden. He thought she had a good chance to win the horserace, because she was lighter than he was, but his warhorse was certainly mightier than the Friesian that Rebelle mounted. As for the sword, Drastan was visibly stronger.

In the meantime, the competitors in the slingshot contest had reduced to four; the prize was a sizeable amount of silver coins that Guy would deliver to the winner in a purse now placed on the small table between his chair and Drastan’s. Before long, they declared the winner: a sixteen-year-old boy with a red mop who pretty much resembled Will Scarlet. He came to collect his prize with an attitude half-exultant, half-intimidated. He made a low bow, even if a little awkwardly, and accepted the purse Guy was offering him as he kept his eyes on the ground.

“Congratulations, lad”, the sheriff told him in a manner he hoped was good-natured, and which sounded strange even to his own ears, too used to his customary hard tones, “What’s your name?”

“Ron, my Lord Sheriff”, the boy answered.

“Well, Ron, use wisely the money you’ve just won.”

“I will, my Lord.”

Again, the lad bowed so low, he risked falling flat on his face, then he withdrew hastily. Guy sighed inwardly. Would he ever be able to make people forget or at least forgive his past behaviour? Vaisey had taught him that ruling through fear was the most efficient way, and actually it seemed to work, but in time he had begun to question himself. One could rule even through respect. It is much harder to make people love you, but in the long run, this produces positive outcomes for everybody. With his past misdeeds, Guy had very few hopes to make people love him, but maybe, if he could demonstrate his good will for a long enough time, he could achieve some level of respect.

He joined the others.

“Shall we have our midday meal?” he said, “We’ve got two hours, before the horserace.”

Chivalrously, he offered his hand to Violet to help her rise and the young woman accepted it.

Drastan hastily sprang up to do as much for Rebelle, but she stood almost simultaneously and thus his offer of help became useless.

Still holding Violet’s hand, Guy led her to the pavilion they had set up for them, where a richly laden table was waiting for them. Even if the food was simple, there were silver dishes and cutlery and gold goblets, carefully watched by two guards.

Guy offered Violet the seat on his right hand and Rebelle on his left, with Drastan sitting across him. After a few moments, several servants arrived carrying trays with bread, cheese and slices of roasted pork, as well as carafes of water and wine. Rebelle and Drastan refused the latter, settling on just water, while Violet and Guy drank the excellent French wine from Vaisey’s personal stock.


	7. Chapter VII

Chapter VII

Nottingham, Sunday, April 10th, 1194, afternoon

“Ready for a run, my lad?” Rebelle whispered to Blackfire. Her black Friesian snorted in reply and she chuckled. “But why am I asking you? You’re _always_ ready for a run!” she caressed his neck, patting him encouragingly. “Come on, let’s win this race!”

Obeying to the firm leading of his rider, Blackfire trotted slowly towards the line of the contestants where the race director placed her at a short distance from Drastan, already in the line with his mighty warhorse. During lunch, Rebelle had learned that his name was Mjolnir, the warhammer of the ancient Norse god Thor.

Seeing her coming, Drastan cast her one of his best smiles, but she returned it with a challenging gaze and a slight nod. Still smiling, Drastan lowered his gaze on his faithful Mjolnir.

“I’m counting on you, my friend”, he told him in an undertone. “Help me to win, so I can receive a kiss from the delightful Rebelle… and who knows, mayhap even soften her enough to make her desire something more!”

The route was almost one mile long and it formed a rough square. Thick red-painted wooden poles marked the four corners, on which waved Gisborne’s banner, black and yellow. At each pole were two commissioners, checking that all the horses would pass and no one would try a shortcut. The first of the poles, which served to mark both start and finish, was located in front of the stand from which Guy and Violet would watch the race.

“Your deputy was very bold, proposing his bet to my cousin”, Violet observed, “and rather rash, too, putting that magnificent dagger at stake. I’m sure he’ll lose it.”

“Are you?” Guy replied. “He has a very fast horse.”

“Blackfire, too, is very fast, and Rebelle – I mean, Isabelle – weighs a lot less than Sir Drastan.”

Guy considered the two subjects of their conversation for some moments.

“Shall we, too, make a bet?” he suggested then with a smirk.

“If you’re going to make me the same proposition Sir Drastan made to Isabelle, I won’t accept it”, Violet declared resolutely.

“I would never take such a liberty. I’m not as bold as my friend”, Guy assured her, frowning a little upset. “I was thinking more about a bottle of a 20-year-old whisky against a cask of your best cider.”

“I’m in”, the young woman smiled: this was a largely symbolic bet, as the value of the prizes wasn’t very high.

The horses were readied for the start; Guy stood up and advanced in plain sight of the contenders. He raised his arm and, after a few moments, he shot it downwards, giving the signal. The riders spurred their horses, which sprang forward and vanished in a cloud of dust while the crowd shouted their incitements.

“May the best one win”, said Guy, sitting again next to Violet.

“Prepare to part from your whisky”, she said, chuckling.

“We’ll see…” the sheriff murmured. The odds in Rebelle’s favour were definitely good, but he cared little to win or to lose: he just hoped he could look likeable to Violet with a convivial and pleasant behaviour.

They waited, gazing at the point where the runners would reappear. A few minutes passed by, then a puff of dust announced the arrival of the first ones. From the thick cloud, the elegant dark shape of Blackfire emerged, with Rebelle slightly hoisted off the saddle and bent forward. Directly after her came Drastan on the mighty Mjolnir racing at full speed. It was immediately apparent that he was gaining on Blackfire, stride after stride, until they were running neck and neck. At that moment, Rebelle gave out a rousing cry to her Friesian, who incredibly seemed to accelerate his pace even more; Drastan shouted in turn an encouragement to his warhorse, who caught up a little. They passed the finish line like lightning bolts, Blackfire barely ahead of Mjolnir.

“Yea!” Violet yelled, springing up and clapping her hands. “Well done, Rebelle!”

It wasn’t very proper behaviour for a lady, but she didn’t care. Guy, too, had stood up and was clapping his hands along with her.

“Great race”, he commented over the clamour of the crowd cheering for the winner.

“Indeed”, Violet confirmed smiling, “but Sir Drastan was a good opponent. This time it hasn’t been a piece of cake, for Reb… Isabelle.”

“I owe you a bottle of 20-year-old whisky. I’ll send for it immediately…”

“There’s no need to rush. If you’d been the winner, I couldn’t have given you the cider at once, could I?”

“True…”

A few minutes later, Rebelle, hot and covered in dust, came to the stand to collect her prize, consisting of a small horseshoe in silver with golden inlays, crafted by the same jeweller that had forged the arrow.

“Congratulations on your victory”, said Guy, presenting her the trophy. She bowed, then she took the silver horseshoe from the sheriff’s hands with a broad smile on her face. She had been the only woman in the race, as in the previous years, and the third victory in row inebriated her. 

“I go to take care of Blackfire”, she told her cousin, “and freshening up a little at the fountain…”

“No need”, Guy said. “Come here when you’re done with your horse, I’ll have Eddie fetching warm water and towels for you, as well as for Drastan.”

Rebelle frowned, uncertain: whilst she didn’t want to wash away the dirt of the race side by side with the blond knight, the idea of warm water enticed her.

“You’re very kind, Sir Guy”, she finally decided to say, “but of course I’d need some privacy…”

“Of course, I’ll see to it. Eddie!”

The page rushed in and listened to the sheriff’s orders, then bolted away to carry them out. Violet considered that his apparent zeal wasn’t due to fear, but to enthusiasm; the hope that Guy was demonstrating he was better than what he had been in the past resurfaced in her mind, but it didn’t cancel the memory of his misdeeds, chief them the burning of Knighton Hall. However, she remembered, the latter was actually ordered by Vaisey, like almost all of Guy’s reproachable acts…

Rebelle took her leave in order to go and take care of Blackfire Shortly after, Drastan arrived, having praised Mjolnir for his efforts and personally given him water to drink, before entrusting him to the grooms who would return him to the castle.

“I need a beer”, he muttered. The sword tournament would take place in only two hours; he had plenty of time to sober up from the beer. He helped himself from a carafe placed on the small table across the stand, filling up a tankard and taking a long draft.

“I tried my very best, and so did Mjolnir”, he declared, turning toward Guy and Violet, “but there was only so much I could do. Lady Isabelle has apparently spared enough her Friesian to have him performing a last dash at the end and beat me.”

“It’s called strategy”, Guy observed, amused by his friend’s frustration. “She has proven far-sighted and clever, holding back her horse until the last moment. You, instead, have driven Mjolnir at full speed since the beginning and so he had no final sprint.”

“I admit it, she’s been very clever”, Drastan sighed, then he looked around. “Where is she? I want to compliment her and give her the dagger…”

“She’s taking care of Blackfire”, Violet answered. “She’ll be back soon.”

At that moment, Eddie returned with two buckets full of steaming water, with Elsa on his tail carrying a few linen towels and washcloths, as well as a curtain.

“Do you need help, Sir Drastan?” she asked softly, placing her load on the table and hurling him a questioning look. After the episode in the bath, he hadn’t come to her anymore, even if he kept treating her kindly.

“No, thanks”, the knight of Greenmere answered graciously. “I can do it myself.”

Knowing perfectly her place, Elsa didn’t feel bothered by this reply and took her leave with a slight curtsy.

Eddie had placed the buckets in a corner and was now busy hanging the curtain to create a secluded space. Drastan thought it was for Violet’s sake – it wouldn’t be appropriate for him parading around shirtless in the presence of a well-born lady like her – but then he considered the two buckets.

“You fetched too much water, Eddie”, he said.

“It’s for Lady Isabelle, too”, Guy informed him under his breath. “Move and tidy up quickly, so you can give way to her.”

Drastan nodded to show he had understood. He took off his rider coat and gave it to Eddie so he would brush it, then he retired behind the curtain; after removing his shirt, he washed himself using one of the washcloths and dried up. Finally, after donning a clean shirt, he re-emerged from the alcove, finding his coat carefully brushed and therefore getting into it again. He grasped his tankard and emptied it, sighing contentedly before joining Guy and Violet. They talked a little while, commenting on the race, and Drastan, finding again his objectivity, didn’t hide his admiration for the way Rebelle had managed it.

Soon, Rebelle returned. Eddie hurried to inform her she could freshen up behind the curtain, therefore the maiden retired there for a few minutes.

Drastan noticed her out of the corner of his eye; in his mind, an image took shape of Rebelle undressing and, bare-breasted – as it was rumoured Queen Eleanor had ridden with her ladies-in-waiting to incite the knights of the First Crusade – beginning to wash up. His throat turned dry as he imagined himself keeping her company, sweeping his hands where the washcloth had swept, caressing the softness of her breasts, her nipples hardening, excited by his touch… her beautiful body pressing against his… her sighs full of desire… ah, how would he like to make her scream in pleasure…

Rebelle re-emerged from the alcove; she had freshened up, but as she had taken with her only one spare shirt, she hadn’t changed it, saving the clean one for later, after the sword tournament.

Drastan stood up and crossed over to her.

“Beer?” he offered, as if she was a brother-in-arms. It seemed strange to him, but he had realised that he had to treat Rebelle like a man, with a little discernment because she was still, after all, a noble maiden, if he wanted to win her esteem. No fussing, she had said, and he had to act accordingly.

“Thank you, but I prefer water”, she answered.

“But there’s still over one hour time before the sword tournament”, Drastan observed.

“It doesn’t matter, I’d rather avoid strong drinks”, Rebelle insisted.

“As you wish”, he yielded, pouring a glass of water for her. Whilst she was drinking, he went and got the dagger, which was still resting next to his seat. “Here you are, Lady Isabelle: you’ve earned it”, he affirmed with conviction.

Rebelle put down her beaker and took the weapon he was handing her. She unsheathed it, watching it again with admiration.

“It’s superb”, she declared. “Are you sure you want to part with it?”

“I’d rather not, of course”, he admitted, then he grinned, “and I would’ve liked to win, so I’d receive a kiss from you”, she stared at him, raising an eyebrow. “But I’m a man of his word, thus I give you what was agreed. Anyway, it couldn’t find a better new owner”, he concluded, with an unusual type of gallantry, but perfectly fitting Rebelle.

His affirmation struck positively the maiden who, for the first time since she had met him, thought that Drastan, after all, wasn’t only the braggart he seemed at first sight.

“Thank you”, she therefore said, sincerely; then she added on impulse. “I put it again on stake for the sword tournament: if you win, you’ll have it back.”

Drastan was very surprised and, for a moment, he was speechless.

“Thank _you_ ”, he finally said, “but… no, I want you to keep it. If I win, you’ll kiss me; if instead _you_ win, you have no need to kiss me. What about this?”

His tone was sweet, very different from the boasting manner he had used in the morning, when he had proposed his bet. Rebelle softened.

“Why do you insist with this kissing thing?” she enquired, leaving aside her usual defiant attitude.

“Because one kiss of yours is more precious to me than any other prize”, Drastan declared in absolute sincerity.

Rebelle pondered for several moments. She had already kissed a few men – a couple of soldiers and a gentleman, during some merrymaking – but she didn’t particularly like the experience. Then she thought about a solution and smiled:

“Very well, I accept.”

Drastan lighted up, quite happy.

They spent the next hour watching the wrestling and the boxing matches, to which winners Guy delivered prizes like he had done for the other ones. Even these men looked rather nervous around him, and they hastily took their leave. This showed again to the black-clad knight how hard he had to work before gaining the respect of people who, up until not long time ago, he used to harass in order to follow the old sheriff’s commands. But he had no intention of giving up and, clenching his teeth, he ignored their mistrustful and fearful attitude.

Finally, the moment came for Rebelle and Drastan to get ready for the sword tournament, in which the scions of the local nobles would take part. They were not very numerous; therefore, the tournament would go quickly.

“In your opinion, what are your cousin’s chances of winning?” Guy enquired, addressing Violet.

Out of loyalty, the young woman should have answered with no hesitation that Rebelle would be the winner, like in the two previous years. But her prior adversaries could have underestimated her, and besides, she guessed that Drastan’s skill level was very high, as Guy’s was, from what she had gathered from Robin. Even if he had always proved to be the winner in fights with him, the outlawed noble had admitted that the black-clad knight was a very skilled swordsman. 

“Of course, I support Isabelle”, she said, “but I think Drastan is a formidable opponent.”

“That, he is”, Guy confirmed. “I never had the pleasure to test myself against your cousin, therefore I, too, cannot tell what the odds are. What I can tell you is that when Drastan and I train together, we nearly always end up in a tie: I am nimbler, he’s stronger”, he broke one of his little smiles, which Violet was beginning to think pleasant. “I can also tell you that he’s one of the most formidable adversaries I have ever fought, and I’m very glad he’s on my side.”

“Then we shall see”, Violet concluded philosophically.

Like the practised strategist they were, Rebelle and Drastan weighed one another up as each of them fought with their adversaries; she was very fast, he very strong. In the end, when both had eliminated all the antagonists and only the two of them remained, it was apparent that the challenge would be one of the most classical: strength against swiftness.

“Even if I wanted to make a bet, I’d have a hard time choosing a winner”, Guy declared, pensively.

“It’s going to be tough for both of them”, Violet commented objectively.

To minimise possible injuries, all the contenders wore a stuffed waistcoat, leather gloves and thick leather covers for their forearms, the latter often decorated with the family emblem, like Rebelle’s and Drastan’s. Of course, the blades of the swords they were using were blunted, but this hadn’t prevented a few light wounds and several bruises; the local physician, Jonathan Rowing, had taken care of them. Both Rebelle and Drastan had a few minor scratches.

“For victory in the sword tournament”, the race director announced in a loud voice, “the fight is now between Sir Drastan of Greenmere and Lady Isabelle of Rivendale!”

The duel was tough for both contenders. Where Drastan struck forcefully, Rebelle dodged lightning-fast and hit back, but none of them was able to disarm the opponent. Both were giving their all, and soon they were covered in sweat, their hair sticking to their foreheads. At length, Drastan succeeded in getting past Rebelle’s guard and forcing her to drop her sword, pointing victoriously his blade at her chest. Incredulous, the warrior maiden lowered her gaze on the opponent’s weapon, but there was no doubt she had been defeated.

“Sir Drastan of Greenmere wins the fight!” the race director proclaimed, as the audience exploded in an ovation. Drastan straightened his back and saluted his defeated adversary; reluctantly, Rebelle replied with a nod.

The fair-haired knight saluted the crowd, too, then he headed for the stand where Guy gave him the prize, a small sword that, as all the other trophies other than cash, was made of silver with gold inlays, manufactured by the same jeweller.

This had been the last contest of the day. It was past mid-afternoon and dancing would soon start.

Rebelle joined the other ones in the stand and Drastan addressed her at once:

“You fought like a lioness, my lady”, he declared, not concealing his sincere admiration. “Rarely have I had such a hard time against an opponent”, he stuck out his hand to her, “The day we met, I doubted your skills, but now for sure I won’t anymore.”

Amazed, Rebelle lowered her gaze on his hand; a moment later, she took it and shook hands with Drastan, firmly.

“I’m glad I made you change your mind”, she said. “I think you do want to collect your prize now, don’t you?” she added with a smirk. Drastan smiled in turn: he hadn’t expected her to offer him so gracefully the reward he had asked her. Apparently, after all she, too, wanted it, he concluded.

“I do”, he confirmed, looking forward to what was coming, “but you don’t want to kiss me in front of everyone…”

“And why not?” Rebelle asked, raising one eyebrow. “I have nothing to hide.”

Drastan blinked, baffled. Keeping her smirk, Rebelle grabbed him by the lapel of his coat, pulled him to her and smacked a loud kiss on his cheek. Then, she withdrew and went pouring herself a tankard of beer, drinking a long draft.

“But…” Drastan began, touching his cheek. “This wasn’t the deal!”

“What do you mean?” Rebelle asked innocently. “You asked for a kiss in case of your victory, and a kiss I gave you. Your friend, Sir Guy, can witness it, and my cousin, Lady Violet, too. You _cannot_ say I didn’t keep the bargain.”

Violet covered her mouth with one hand, chuckling; Guy cast her a glance, and then he gazed at Drastan.

“You’ve been played, my friend”, he grinned. “If you didn’t specify how or where you wanted to be kissed, Lady Isabelle gave you the kiss she thought the most appropriate and you must be content with it.”

Drastan turned and shot him a dirty look.

“You too, Brutus!” he cried melodramatically, but unfortunately for him, his friend’s argument was perfectly fine. “Very well, I’ve been outwitted”, he admitted reluctantly. “This time you get away with it, Lady Isabelle, but I promise you that one day will be payback time.”

“If you like thinking so…” Rebelle replied unperturbed, taking another swig of her beer.

“Beware, Drastan”, Guy warned him. “I think you’ve met your match, this time.”

Eddie arrived with two more buckets of hot water, placing them beyond the screen the curtain had created. Drastan hadn’t taken off his eyes of Rebelle, considering her with renewed respect.

“I think you’re right”, he murmured, then he cleared his throat. “Please, go on, Lady Isabelle.”

She peeped at him mistrustfully.

“Because I’m a woman?” she provoked him. He hesitated, then decided to be completely truthful. He shook his head:

“No, milady: because I want to honour a formidable opponent who had good chances to beat me and might still do it, in the event of a new match.”

Rebelle paused to study him for a few moments, as if pondering if she should believe him.

“Very well”, she finally said, putting down the now empty tankard. “Thank you.”

She retired behind the curtain and a few minutes later she came back with the clean shirt she had taken with her, donning again the jacket that Eddie had carefully brushed. Drastan did so, too, returning clean and changed. In the distance, they heard the music for the dancing that had already begun.

“Shall we go?” Guy invited them all, offering his arm to Violet. She looked at him in surprise:

“You dance, Sir Guy?”

“It has been a long time, but when I was a boy, I used to dance; I’m surely a little rusty, therefore I beg your pardon in advance, should I lead you badly.”

“I am a skilled dancer”, Drastan boasted. “And how about you, Lady Isabelle?”

“Usually I dance as the gentleman”, she answered; that was true, she danced rarely as the lady, even if she was perfectly capable.

Drastan analysed her statement and found at once its weak spot.

“ _Usually_ doesn’t mean _always_ ”, he observed triumphantly, “therefore I hope you’ll grant me the honour of dancing with you.”

Feeling entrapped, because refusing would be an unpardonable impoliteness, Rebelle cast a glance at her cousin, who was walking away on the sheriff’s arm.

“Usually I dance with Violet”, she tried.

“I’m afraid Guy has booked Lady Violet”, Drastan pointed out to her. He avoided giving his arm to her, but he invited her to go first, then he joined her. “Don’t worry, I’m skilled for real: it’s not just a brag. I’ll lead you through the movements: you won’t risk any mistakes.”

Rebelle raised an eyebrow:

“It could be _me_ guiding _you_ , as I’m used to be the gentleman.”

Drastan grinned.

“Well, that would be a new experience, for me”, he declared, coolly.

Rebelle realised she was having a hard time hiding a smirk.

When Guy and Violet arrived at the square where the musicians were playing, they found several circles of people, alternating men and women holding hands; they were turning clockwise to the music in simple dance steps. A few moments later, Drastan and Rebelle joined them. Together, they waited for the music to stop and then, before the next piece would begin, they joined one of the circles. Guy made sure that Rebelle and Drastan entered between him and the next woman, keeping Violet to his right hand, between him and the next man. In this way, he prevented any possible discomfort or alarm. He knew that, unfortunately, he had to prove himself for a long, long time, before the inhabitants of Nottinghamshire would begin to understand that he had truly changed and that they had nothing to fear from his part, except the severity connected with justice.

The musicians intoned a cheerful carol and the dance began. Every now and then, the men would leave the hand of the woman to their left to make their lady turn around, one way or the other, on herself or around them, and then would get back into formation and go on progressing clockwise in the dance circle. Rebelle admitted that Drastan was truly a skilled dancer and that he was leading her on through the dance with a firm hand. Guy, after a few minutes of insecurity, found back the knowledge of his adolescence and began to lead Violet steadily.

Guy was very careful to always position himself between Rebelle and Violet. He ignored the mistrustful glances many cast at him and concentrated on enjoying the dancing with his beautiful lady, who was an excellent dancer and tireless as well. They danced for over one hour without stopping, except a few moments in between pieces.

The sun was westering when Violet drew Rebelle’s attention to what time it was. The warrior maiden was having such a good time – despite her aversion for Drastan – that she hadn’t realised that sunset was at hand.

“I’m sorry, we have to go”, she said to her gentleman, more brusquely than she intended, “or we risk darkness catching us along the way.”

“I can escort you both”, Drastan promptly offered.

“There’s no need”, Rebelle refused firmly, “but thank you”, she added out of pure civility.

“Even if I have no doubt about your ability as a fighter, I’d feel more comfortable if I could accompany you”, Drastan insisted, in a genuinely concerned tone.

“Thank you so much, Sir Drastan”, Violet interjected, “but really, there’s no need: there’s still time enough to get home before nightfall. We’re both excellent riders, Isabelle and I.”

Drastan was about to insist further, but Guy intervened:

“Then I wish you a safe return, my ladies. I hope to meet you again soon, because I enjoyed your company very much, today.”

“We did, too, Sir Guy”, Violet declared; her tone was diplomatic, but actually she had sincerely appreciated the hours spent with him and Drastan, “and we thank you for your hospitality.”

She curtseyed taking her leave, and the sheriff bowed in return; then, she and her cousin turned, heading for the stables where they had left their horses.

“I don’t feel at ease”, Drastan confessed to Guy, watching them leaving.

“I’m sure Lady Isabelle is an adequate escort for Lady Violet”, the dark-haired knight considered, “but you know what? I don’t feel at ease, either.”

The two friends exchanged a glance and understood each other at once.

“Let’s follow them at a distance, staying out of view”, Drastan made their thoughts clear. Guy nodded and thus they moved, heading quickly for the stand. Their horses were tethered behind it, and they climbed on their backs.

Shortly afterwards, they spotted the two women who were going at a light trot along the road for Chetwood. Guy and Drastan kept at a distance, even losing sight of them a few times when, because of a bend of the road, the trees of the forest hid them, but punctually finding them again; until, at some point, they suddenly disappeared.

“But what on Earth…?” Guy muttered, caught by surprise. He and Drastan pressed their horses, but didn’t find any trace of the two women: they seemed to have vanished into thin air. They halted, looking around, then dismounted and searched the ground for any sign of their whereabouts, but in vain.

“They cannot have disappeared like mist in the sun!” Drastan blurted out.

“We have not, indeed”, a female voice asserted behind them. Guy and Drastan whipped around and spotted Violet and Rebelle coming out from the undergrowth that had hidden them. “I would be a very incompetent escort”, Rebelle continued, staring at them defiantly, “if I didn’t notice someone following us.”

The knights were speechless.

“We have to learn not to underestimate Lady Isabelle anymore, my friend”, Guy commented at length, casting a glance at Drastan.

“Yea”, the fair-haired knight agreed. “Now I know you don’t need help, my lady, but the concern for your and Lady Violet’s safety got the better on this knowledge”, he concluded with a theatrical bow. Guy barely managed not to roll his eyes: his friend was a true master in transforming a reply to a reproach in a gallant compliment.

“You’re very kind, Sir Drastan”, Violet declared, amused despite herself, “and you, too, Sir Guy, in wanting to escort us home. We cannot prevent you from following us, as the road belongs to everyone”, she concluded, getting back into saddle. “Let’s hurry, or nightfall will truly catch us.”

She spurred Snowflake to a trot, passing by them all and heading for home. A moment later, Rebelle jumped on Blackfire’s back and followed her.

The two men hesitated.

“Lady Violet didn’t tell us we cannot escort them”, Drastan then pointed out to Guy.

“True”, the latter confirmed, mounting nimbly on his warhorse. “Let’s go.”

They trotted into the women’s wake and followed them to the mansion, but they didn’t speak all along.

After half an hour, they exited the forest and came into sight of Chetwood Manor. At this point, Violet pulled Snowflake’s reins and waited for Guy and Drastan to join them; Rebelle halted next to her.

“Thank you, gentlemen”, Violet said. “We’re almost there. You can go back. If you hurry up, you’ll be back in Nottingham just after eventide.”

“We’re glad to see you home safe and sound”, Drastan declared. “I hope to meet you again soon, Lady Isabelle, so, if you want to, I’ll give you another chance with the sword.”

“We’ll see”, she answered, coolly.

Guy addressed a nod to the two women and, with one last glance to Violet, he turned Darkshadow, his warhorse. Drastan manoeuvred around Mjolnir and, spurring on their mounts, the knights left.

“Good to see them gone!” Rebelle snapped, turning her horse toward the mansion. Under her annoyed tone, Violet caught relief and wondered what the reason might be: even if Guy had been a fearsome man, at Vaisey’s commands, his conduct towards them had been impeccable. Not for a single moment had she felt threatened. What had Rebelle worried about, then?

“Why are you mad at them?” she asked, following her. “They’ve been very kind.”

“Yes, but I’m sure their goal is anything but noble”, Rebelle grumbled. “It looks very apparent to me that Drastan wants to bed me and, if you ask me, Guy, too, wants to slip under your skirts!”

“Isabelle!”

“Don’t use that shocked tone”, Rebelle defended herself. “Mayhap I’m wrong about Guy, but I’m sure about Drastan. His insistence about the kiss doesn’t leave many doubts.”

“Then you shouldn’t have accepted his challenge.”

“Losing the chance to win this magnificent dagger?” Rebelle caressed the hilt of the weapon, now stuck in her belt opposite to her sword. “And you saw how I managed it, did you not?”

“Drastan didn’t look very happy”, Violet chuckled.

“Serves him right, that buster!” Rebelle laughed. “He won’t get a roll in the hay with me just because he’s good at flirting.”

Violet cast her a suspicious glance.

“You mean that, should he change his attitude, he has some chance?”

“What? No!” Rebelle denied forcefully, but the blatant flush suddenly covering her cheeks was an unintended confirmation. However, Violet decided not to press her, knowing she would just get defensive.

They walked the last yards in silence, both lost in their own thoughts.


	8. Chapter VIII

Chapter VIII

Chetwood Manor, a few days later

It was mid-afternoon of the Friday after Easter, a beautiful sunny day. Violet and Rebelle had just returned from Wellmore, a small village a few miles away from Chetwood, where they had bartered apples for flour. As Jack Knowles directed the unloading, the two women went to the mansion to freshen up before dinner; then, Violet headed for her workroom to filter a rosemary ointment, an excellent remedy to relieve muscular pain, while Rebelle went to check the armoury. 

Violet was almost done with her task when she heard a knock at the door; on her invitation, Mary entered. She was a bit out of breath.

“Lady Violet, you’re never going to guess who’s here!”

“If I’m never going to guess it, then ‘tis better you tell me at once”, the young noblewoman commented in amusement, raising an eyebrow.

“No no, come and see for yourself!”

With a cheerful laugh expressing enthusiasm and excitation, Mary turned and ran away. Servants never were too formal, at Chetwood Manor, where everyone knew everyone else since forever, but the girl’s behaviour was unusually familiar. Intrigued, Violet put down the strainer, plugged the last flagon, and finally took off her apron before heading for the hall. As soon as she entered, two people turned to look at her. Recognising them, Violet gasped:

“Robin! Marian!”

With broad smiles expressing their pleasure to see her again, the newcomers approached her; Violet hugged them laughing with joy.

“How are you?!” she cried. “What happened to you, throughout all this time?”

“’Tis a long story”, Marian answered. “Let’s wait for your father and Rebelle, so we can tell everyone…”

At that moment, Violet’s cousin, whom Mary had alerted, came into the hall. Catching sight of Robin and Marian, she froze on the threshold, staring incredulously at the two guests.

“I knew you would come back safe and sound!” she yelled in her enthusiasm and then she rushed to hug them.

When Rebelle was orphaned, she had been welcomed at Chetwood Manor, and Marian had taken her under her protective wing. The two girls, both having an independent character and no patience with the rules that society imposed on women, had soon become friends. Rebelle was one of the very few people who knew about Marian being the Nightwatchman, along with Violet, Robin, the late Edward of Knighton – Marian’s father – and Guy of Gisborne. The two maidens were both warriors, each in her way, capable of defending themselves, even physically, should need arise.

As for Robin, at the beginning Rebelle had disliked him greatly, thinking he was an unreliable braggart who had abandoned Marian to seek glory in far countries. However, when Vaisey had outlawed Robin because he had refused to tolerate his unacceptable abuses, Robin had begun stealing from the rich to donate to the poor and defending the vexed and oppressed peasants, she had changed her mind and she had even become a great admirer of his.

After exchanging hugs, Violet had her friends seated and headed for the door to call Mary, who came in at once.

“Bring some cider”, Violet instructed her, “and send Simon to my father to tell him that Lady Marian and Lord Locksley are here.”

The girl nodded and hurried to carry out the orders.

“I’m so happy to see you!” Violet cried, sitting next to Robin. “When Guy came back and you two didn’t, we were all very concerned!”

“We’ve been delayed”, Robin answered, “and soon you’ll learn the reason for it”, he frowned. “You’ve mentioned Gisborne… and Vaisey?”

“He’s dead”, Rebelle answered tersely, sitting across him. “Prince John appointed Gisborne as acting sheriff, until the return of King Richard.”

“Gisborne has become Sheriff of Nottingham??” Robin blurted out indignantly.

“Only temporarily”, Violet confirmed, trying to calm him down, “and he’s not doing a bad job. He already promulgated a redistribution of taxes and his systems to collect them are not as brutal as when he was at Vaisey’s service. He seems changed… or better, he seems to be like he was when we were children, with the obvious differences due to age and experience.”

Robin was clenching his fists so hard that his knuckles were white. Marian caressed his hand, trying to soothe him.

“And so Vaisey is dead?” Robin asked in a dull voice.

“It seems that he fell into a gorge, or into a crevasse in the ice, while crossing the Alps”, Violet told him, “but we don’t know the details. We only know that since he’s been back, Guy has acted in a harsh, but fair way. Nothing like his earlier behaviour, when he was at the baron’s service.”

Robin cast her an incredulous glance, but said nothing because, at that moment, Mary came in, carrying a tray with a carafe and five silver goblets.

After she had her placed her burden down on the table, Robin asked her kindly:

“How’s Peter?”

Peter, Mary’s husband, was Chetwood’s potter, the best throughout the county; he went regularly to Nottingham’s market to sell his creations and the previous year Vaisey had targeted him, claiming that Peter hadn’t paid for months the usual concession fee on his booth. Of course, this wasn’t true, but it was a peasant’s word against a nobleman’s and therefore the poor man would be compelled to pay, but he would never be able to, not even if he sold his business. Fortunately, Robin had intervened providing the money and so Peter had paid, to Vaisey’s great irritation. At that time, Mary was pregnant with their first child; when they found out it was a boy, they had him baptized with the name of their benefactor.

“Fine, thank you! And little Robin is growing up well”, Mary answered.

“That’s good to hear. Give Peter my greetings and Robin a kiss from me”, the outlaw concluded.

At Chetwood, he could trust everybody, both because they knew him since forever and because most of them, directly or indirectly, owed him for having defended them from Vaisey’s and Guy’s vexations, and that’s why he and Marian could come openly to the mansion. After having made sure that there were no thugs from Nottingham, of course: one could never be careful enough.

Mary curtseyed and took her leave; a few moments later, William walked through the door.

“Welcome back, Lady Marian and Lord Locksley!” he cried cheerfully; then, as his vassal, he bowed to Robin, who technically was still the Earl of Huntingdon, but the latter stood up and went to embrace him. After all, he knew William since he was born and, more than as a subordinate, he considered him like family.

William then bowed to Marian, too, and then took his seat at the head of the table, smiling broadly.

Rebelle poured some cider for everyone and William raised his goblet.

“Let’s drink to the return of two dear friends.”

The others raised their goblets, responding to the toast, and sipped at the cool cider.

“Well, how are the other members of the gang?” Violet asked.

“They’re all back safe and sound, except Will and Djaq, who have decided to stay in the Holy Land and marry”, Robin answered. William looked shocked, as well as his daughter and his niece.

“Will and Djaq?” Rebelle repeated. “I had no idea they were in love.”

“They realised it only just before we left”, Marian explained.

But William wanted to know other things and asked therefore bluntly:

“What happened in the Holy Land?”

”Vaisey wanted to kill the King”, Robin told them. “’Tis nothing new, but he had envisioned a very accurate plan. Marian learned about it and tried to stop him, but she failed, and therefore Vaisey and Guy took her with them to the Holy Land. We had pursued them to Acre, where we foiled the plot and saved the king.” He squeezed Marian’s hand while his face darkened. “Guy nearly killed Marian, stabbing her. Luckily we got there in time to prevent the irreparable... I risked losing her forever...”

His voice broke and he paused; it was unusual to see the jovial Robin – always ready for joke and laugh, for tricks and ruses – so emotional, and therefore the bystanders were particularly impressed.

After some moments, Robin resumed talking:

“At that point, I asked King Richard for permission to wed Marian in front of him. We had already pronounced the wedding promises on our own, thinking we were going to die in the desert; even such a rite is valid, because according to the law, what counts are the oaths of the bride and groom, the bystanders simply witness this, and the priest just blesses the nuptials in the name of God. King Richard accepted and he even provided the ring, giving me one of his to give to Marian. So we repeated our oaths and pronounced our marriage vows, and King Richard wrote a document to validate our wedding beyond any doubt.”

“The document is now safe at our refuge”, Marian added, obviously referring to the outlaws’ camp.

“Guy... wanted to kill you?” Violet was horrified and incredulous. “That’s terrible!”

“I think he didn’t realise what he was doing”, Marian said. “The horror in his eyes when he released me was genuine.”

“Not realising his deeds does not justify him”, Robin growled.

“Of course not”, his wife agreed, “but ‘tis unfair to affirm he was acting in cold blood. We were fighting furiously.”

“’Twas anyway an unforgivable act”, Robin insisted.

“’Twas an _incident_ ”, Marian insisted. “As for forgiveness, our Lord forgave his murderers on the Cross, and they hadn’t even repented what they had done. Should Guy repent...”

“That man doesn’t know what repentance is”, Robin asserted bitterly.

“We don’t know this actually”, William observed quietly. “As a lad, he was always very sombre, but he wasn’t malevolent. As a matter of fact, Lord Locksley, compared to him, _you_ were the one to blame: you were a true brat.”

“People change”, the outlaw defended himself. “I’m done with foolishnesses... hey!” He abruptly stopped talking when Marian elbowed him, not hard enough to hurt him, but enough to silence him.

“You still do foolish things”, she contradicted him in a mild reproaching tone. “Guy had a very difficult youth. He lost everything – his parents, his house, his estate – and he had the responsibility of guarding a young sister. We don’t even know what happened to Isabella, as he never talks about her...”

“You think all the perfidy Guy showed in the past is due to that tragedy?” Rebelle asked her.

“I do think so, yes”, the young noblewoman answered, and seeing Robin’s face darken, she frowned and added forcefully. “This doesn’t mean I justify his horrible deeds at Vaisey’s orders! I only say that, if that tragedy never happened, his life would’ve been very different. You cannot deny it, Robin!”

The outlawed earl became pensive.

“I’ve never looked at it in those terms”, he admitted at length, “but be that as it may, should he act like Vaisey, I’ll fight him exactly like I have done so far.”

“Mayhap there will be no need”, Violet observed. “In these weeks after his returning, Guy behaved well. He diminished taxes on the poor and increased them on the rich, but without oppressing anyone; and those who have difficulties in paying, can ask for a delay or pay in instalments. Besides, he said he has no intention of destroying anyone’s business only because he’s struggling to pay taxes. He agrees with us that that’s nonsense.”

“But at Vaisey’s orders, he did it”, Robin objected bitterly.

“Of course, because he was _forced_ to obey those orders, not because he _liked_ them or agreed with them”, Violet replied. “If he would complain, the baron would punish him severely, perchance even killed him, and then someone else would take over who mayhap would enjoy hurting people like Vaisey did.” She was silent for a moment. “Robin, have you never wondered why Guy has failed so many times, in hunting you down or in executing the old sheriff’s most execrable orders?”

“Because he’s stupid?”

Violet frowned:

“He’s not stupid and you know it.” She paused as she and Robin stared at each other. Here in Chetwood, we talked about this, a few times”, she added in a low voice, “and we have concluded that, perhaps, he did it on purpose, to give you the chance to intervene and hinder his deeds.”

“Oh come on… that’s impossible!” Robin protested. But Marian stared open mouthed at Violet and cried:

“That’s what I thought, myself!”

Robin turned and gaped at his wife in amazement:

“You, too, think he did it on purpose?”

“Think about it, Robin”, Marian exhorted him, returning his gaze. “Think about it carefully. Either he’s a complete idiot – and we know he’s _not_ – or there is no other explanation! Sometimes he succeeded, but always in trifles, while on truly important things, on the truly despicable deeds, he always failed badly! How could you think that you constantly arrived just in time to save someone, or to foil a plundering, avoid burning down a house, stop the guards who wanted to hit or rape or kill someone? Think!”

“But…” Robin began; he looked at William, silently asking for support, however even his elderly host was nodding. “Come on, I don’t find this plausible”, he contested them, but in a weaker tone than before.

“However, this would explain most of Gisborne’s failures”, William observed.

“Even the baby boy Seth”, Rebelle intervened. “I always thought it was weird that, with all of Sherwood’s extent, he would leave him exactly in a place where you’ve been spotted often. He could have done it precisely for you and your gang to find him. And Annie, who in a year’s time has purchased the tavern where she was working, how do you explain this? It seems apparent to me that someone is helping her. It could well be Gisborne.”

“Just coincidence”, Robin replied, shaking his fair-haired head.

“You’re incredibly mulish!” Marian flared up. “You don’t want even admit the possibility?”

“We have no proof”, Violet observed with common sense, “’tis just our musing. Perhaps it is, perhaps not, but I think we’ll find out the truth soon enough. Now that Vaisey is dead, Guy is free to act on his own. As the sheriff, he has the power to impose his will. So far, he acted in a fair way; let’s see how he’ll go on.”

“As long as the bounty remains on my head, we’ll be enemies”, Robin declared.

“Well, Lord Locksley, you objectively broke the law many times”, William reminded him. “For the good, I know”, he anticipated him, seeing he was about to protest, “but nonetheless, you did it. At this point, only King Richard could withdraw the ban on you.”

“I could have asked him, while we were in the Holy Land”, Robin considered, pulling a face, “but I didn’t think about it, as we were too busy preventing the plot to kill him and at the same time saving Marian. Then, immediately after our wedding, the King went elsewhere to continue the war against the infidels and later we had to plan our return to England. And anyway”, he shrugged. “Vaisey could have put back the bounty at will. I had no idea he was dead.”

They stayed silent for some moments.

“With all this news, we forgot to congratulate the newlyweds”, Violet said at length, smiling affectionately.

“Good heavens, that’s true!” William cried, lifting again his goblet. “To the bride and groom!”

They toasted again and took another sip.

“So, what are you planning to do now?” Violet asked to the couple. “Where are you going to dwell?”

“In Sherwood”, Robin answered. “As long as I’m outlawed, I cannot go back to Locksley nor make a home in any village.”

“And I have no home in which to return” Marian added with a sad sigh. A year had passed since Guy, on Vaisey’s order, had burned down Knighton Hall and arrested Sir Edward and her.

“It doesn’t seem right to me, for a young, newlywed couple to be living in the forest with no privacy”, William commented. “Here we have plenty of room. Why don’t you stay here, Lady Marian?”

She cast an uncertain glance to Robin.

“Your offer is very generous, Sir William”, she said in a hesitant tone, “but I’m afraid that my husband’s constant coming and going would draw attention…”

“Not necessarily”, Violet interjected. “There’s an old back door, which is no longer used since we built the new kitchen with a new door. Now we use the old kitchen as a storage room and people goes there rarely. Never by night, that’s sure. Robin, you could use that door to come and go undisturbed.”

“And Marian would surely be more comfortable than in your hiding place”, Rebelle added. “Robin, you really cannot expect a lady to live in a camp in the middle of the forest!”

“Actually, I’d rather live in a hovel with Robin than in a palace without him”, Marian stated firmly, “and anyway, I already have.”

She was referring to the time she had spent with the outlaws, after her father had been killed in the attempt to escape Nottingham Castle’s dungeon and expose the Black Knights plotting with Vaisey against King Richard.

“No, they’re right”, Robin declared suddenly. “Marian, I, too, don’t like the thought of you living in a camp, even if well equipped, in the middle of the forest. At the present day I cannot give you the house you deserve as the Lady of Locksley and Countess of Huntingdon. Therefore, I’d be glad to know you’re staying in a hospitable house, worthy of you.”

Marian glowered and Violet, knowing her stubbornness, intervened before she could contest her husband:

“Think about it, you don’t have to decide right now. Marian, if you’re worried about causing any inconvenience to us, be reassured because, if this would be the case, my father wouldn’t make the offer. That goes for you too, Robin. You two talk about it and feel free to decide, one way or other simply on what seems better for both, alright?”

“Thank you”, Marian smiled at her. “We’ll do that.”

“Yea”, Robin confirmed, smiling at her in turn. He and Marian were two very strong-willed people and this made them fight frequently, but the deep love they felt for each other was more important and allowed them always to find a solution.

“You’ll stay for dinner?” Violet asked, because as the host she had to think, too, to matters that were more practical.

“I wouldn’t mind a proper meal after weeks spent travelling”, Robin confessed. “I can find my way back to the camp even in the dark.”

Marian nodded with a grateful expression.

“Fine”, Violet smiled. “I will go and make arrangements with the cook. Would you like to take a nice bath, too? I think ‘tis still rather cold for bathing in Sherwood’s creeks…”

Marian laughed:

“You’re right! Yes, I’d like to take a bath, even if I’ll have to put on my dirty garments afterwards.”

“Not necessarily”, William intervened. “I still have my Adèle’s clothes, and they should fit you.”

Violet was indeed more petite and curvy than her mother, thus she didn’t use her gowns, while Marian was of very similar shape and stature to the late noblewoman.

“Thank you, Sir William”, Marian said. “I’m very grateful.”

Robin, too, accepted this offer, and William gave him some of his clothes he had discarded because recently he had lost some weight. Violet went to instruct the servants about the guests and later she bade the newlywed couple to go and take their bath. If they would seize the opportunity to do also _something else_ than just the washing, in that large tub, that would be their own business; but judging from their more than satisfied appearance afterwards, there were no doubts about their conduct.

During dinner, Robin raised the issue about the inheritance regarding the title of Baron of Nottingham.

“Vaisey has passed with no heir”, he observed, “and not even his sister Davina had any children, thus the fief is yours, Sir William.”

William shook his greying head.

“So it is, technically, but I’ll pass it directly down to Jeffrey: I’m too old and tired to take this responsibility.”

“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to meet your son in the Holy Land”, Robin complained, who had always greatly admired Jeffrey.

“He will return soon”, Rebelle revealed. “We sent for him after learning about Vaisey’s death, precisely to make him claim the title. King Richard will surely allow him to come, because he’s the only heir and the king cannot leave a fief of this importance without a legitimate warden.”

“Besides”, Violet added, “King Richard will certainly be glad having such a faithful vassal in such a position.”

“Let’s hope Gisborne won’t try and hinder him”, Robin considered through clenched teeth.

“With King Richard’s direct orders, he’ll be forced to obey”, William affirmed. “When Jeffrey will formally be Baron of Nottingham, Gisborne can still be the sheriff, unless King Richard refutes his brother John’s appointment, but I don’t think it likely.”

“Then I doubt that, until King Richard’s return, I’ll see my state as an outlaw withdrawn”, Robin said bitterly. “Gisborne hates me, because he blames me for the fire that destroyed his house and killed his parents.”

Everyone in the room pinned eyes on him, shocked and incredulous: none of them knew anything about this.

“What are you talking about?” Marian enquired, pale-faced. “You didn’t set the fire, did you?”

“No, of course not”, Robin reassured her, “but if I hadn’t meddled in the Gisborne family’s business, probably it never would’ve happened.”

“Explain better, please”, Violet exhorted him, disquieted.

Thus, Robin told them the facts he had so far kept to himself because they caused him great shame and a sense of guilt. At the time, he was just a lad, even if that didn’t excuse his behaviour with the young age: he had been frivolous, selfish and reckless.

Sir Roger of Gisborne, Guy and Isabella’s father, had been presumed dead in the Holy Land and Malcolm of Locksley, Robin’s father, could have claimed his estate, but he had refused to do it because he was in love with Ghislaine, Roger’s widow. As Malcolm too was a widower, he could have married her, but Roger had unexpectedly returned. As he was sick with leprosy, Ghislaine had declared herself a factual widow and the bailiff had exiled Roger, gathering an angry – or better, scared to death by Roger’s sickness – mob, which had assailed Gisborne Manor. In the commotion, someone had lighted the fire, if accidentally or not Robin could not tell because he had been looking from afar. Lady Ghislaine had died in the fire, and Lord Malcolm as well, who had intervened in an attempt to calm the riot.

“Had he not meddled in it, my father would still be alive”, the outlaw concluded, with a bitterness that the passing of time had not diminished.

Everyone was silent, taking in Robin’s tale, which they were hearing for the first time.

“You were only a lad”, William said at length, in a low voice, “foolish and rash; but even if you would be prudent and reliable, you couldn’t foresee what the consequences of your act would be, an act you thought rightful. Even if you have a certain degree of responsibility in what happened, it stops at having kicked off the chain of events that had come afterwards. However, what came afterwards wasn’t in your hands anymore, but in those of others, more adult than you were. You didn’t set the fire; you didn’t kill Ghislaine, Roger and Malcolm.”

“He’s right”, Violet commented, and Marian and Rebelle nodded. Robin sneered bitterly.

“Tell that to Gisborne!”

“You can rest assured I will, if the occasion arises”, Marian said firmly.

“Better you don’t”, William interjected. “He’d hardly change his mind, after so long a time resenting Lord Locksley; quite the opposite, this could exacerbate him, and take him to resent you too, Lady Marian.”

“I doubt it”, she replied.

“You cannot always rely on the fact he has a thing for you”, Rebelle observed; Violet felt uneasiness hearing this statement, and wondered why.

“’Tis not that”, Marian explained. “I told you he was horrified, when he realised he had stabbed me; now his conscience is surely haunting him… No, Robin”, she prevented her husband from protesting. “We have just discussed the matter and concluded that Guy has a conscience indeed! When he finds out that I’m back, he’ll feel indebted to me and he’ll listen to me. He owes me, damn it!”

“Marian! That’s not a ladylike language!” Robin cried in reproach; however, he couldn’t help but grin.

“Since when do I behave ladylike?” she laughed. “And anyway, neither you nor anyone else can prevent me from talking how and how much and about whatever I want.”

“I know that”, Robin declared, smiling now broadly, “and ‘tis one of the reasons why I love you.”

As they finished dinner, Robin and Marian took their leave. William exhorted them to think about his offer of hospitality for Marian and the two promised they would do. After their farewells, they departed into the forthcoming dusk that heralded nightfall, and disappeared among the trees.


	9. Chapter IX

Chapter IX

Chetwood Manor, April 25th, 1194

“Robin risks for good to see his supremacy as the best bowman in Nottingham County challenged!” Marian laughed, watching the three arrows in the dead centre of the target, in a few inches’ space. Violet laughed in turn: she, Rebelle and Marian were practicing archery, and it was apparent that Violet was the best archer among them.

Marian bad been staying in Chetwood Manor for several days now; she had settled in the room closest to the unused exit that Violet had mentioned the day she and Robin had come to visit them, and each night her husband came to see her secretly.

“Robin treats you well?” Violet enquired in a grave tone while they were returning to the mansion, holding their still stringed bows and carrying their quivers on their shoulders. Rebelle was suddenly all ears: she knew what her cousin was referring to, but Marian surely didn’t.

“Aye. He has always treated me well, but after I risked my life, he fusses even more over me.”

“In the bedchamber as well?” Rebelle intervened bluntly. Marian blushed, and so did Violet, who felt caught out; but hers wasn’t morbid curiosity, instead it was concern for her childhood friend. If Robin would treat her badly between the sheets, she would take him aside and scold him thoroughly. She doubted there was any need for it, but she wanted to make sure.

“Aye, absolutely”, the young bride reassured them both. “On our wedding night, he was so afraid he might hurt me that he almost wasn’t able to consummate the marriage”, she giggled, even if her blush deepened. “Contrary to what I had always heard, I didn’t feel any pain”, she frowned. “Actually, Djaq had told me ‘twas possible, if the man is kind enough, but I didn’t believe her much, as everyone else said that the first time is painful. And now”, she flushed even more, ”’tis… very pleasant.”

“I’m glad to hear it”, Violet said, relieved and pleased for her friend. “A happy matrimonial life is what every woman wishes, but not all are so fortunate to have it.”

Marian gazed at her with suspicion and Violet repented having mentioned this, fearing she had revealed what, at the moment, only Rebelle knew, that is, her disastrous marital experience. Noticing her expression, Rebelle intervened again to save her cousin from an unpleasant explanation.

“What about going for a ride? Marian, you said you’d like to try Red Amber and this could be a good opportunity.”

Marian was too smart not to understand that this was a move to change the subject; guessing there had to be a valid reason, she didn’t push and took the prompt:

“Sure! I have not ridden since we set sail for England. We travelled all the way by sea, on foot or occasionally on a cart, but never on a horse. And that red roan is truly beautiful”, she concluded smiling.

“Let’s keep the bows”, Rebelle suggested, “in case we might have a shot at some game.”

“Excellent idea”, Violet approved.

When they arrived at the stables, Hugh the groom took out Blackfire at once, while Emeric, Maud’s thirteen-year-old son and Hugh’s apprentice, took care of Snowflake and Red Amber. The three horses were quickly saddled – Emeric received lots of advice from Hugh, but there was no real need as he proved himself up to the challenge – and finally the three young women set off at a light trot. 

“Where shall we go?” Violet asked.

“I’d like to go to Knighton”, Marian said, “to see how things are and how my peasants are doing.”

“Fine, let’s go”, Rebelle nodded, touching the sides of her Friesian with her heels to make him improve his pace.

A little over half an hour later, they had reached the small cluster of houses surrounding what had been Marian’s dwelling, now reduced to a heap of ruins – or so they believed: as soon as they got over the hill south of the estate, they saw a building site in full swing, on the exact spot where Knighton Hall used to be.

“But what…?” breathed Marian, amazed.

They drew near, passing among the peasants’ cottages. Two women were drawing water from the well; one caught sight of the approaching ladies and said something to the other one, who turned to look at them.

“Lady Marian!” cried the latter, dropping the buckets. “You’re back!”

“Hello Julia… Goda…” Marian greeted them. “How are you?”

“We’re fine! But how are _you_?” cried Goda, the older one. “We were afraid we wouldn’t see you ever again…”

“I’m fine”, the young noblewoman smiled. “I’m back safe and sound, and Robin and the other ones are back with me.”

“What wonderful news!” Julia exulted. “Luckily, while you’ve been away, Gilbert wasn’t that bad, as the sheriff’s substitute”, she lowered her voice. “I’m glad to know the baron’s dead!”

“Julia, ‘tis not for good Christians to speak this way”, Goda scolded her, making the sign of the cross. “Lord Nottingham surely was an evil man, but I hope he had time to reconcile with God before dying…”

“I don’t think so”, Violet said, “because ‘twas an accident. But you’re right, never speak ill of the dead, so may he rest in peace.”

“May he burn in hell”, Rebelle muttered through clenched teeth. The two peasant women didn’t hear her, but both her cousin and Marian did perfectly. None objected, though. After all, Violet had spoken more out of formality than conviction.

“What is going on?” Marian enquired, pointing to the building site where they could spot at least twenty men moving around.

“They’re rebuilding Knighton Hall”, Julia informed her. “On Sir Guy’s orders – can you believe it? First he sets fire to it, and now he rebuilds it!”

“Perhaps he wants you to feel in his debt, so to make you marry him”, Goda insinuated, lividly. Everyone knew how Gisborne had tried to force Marian into marriage and many thought that, not succeeding, he had managed things so as to make her lose her house and be arrested with her father, taking his revenge; but Marian knew that Guy had acted on the baron’s orders and that he didn’t enjoy depriving her of her dwelling or keeping Sir Edward in prison. Besides, after what happened in the Holy Land, he couldn’t have any hope in this matter anymore and therefore, he was doing this selflessly. Unless he was planning to entrust Knighton to a favourite of his. Possibly his right-hand man, this Drastan of Greenmere of whom Marian didn’t know at all.

“Even so”, she said, shrugging, “’tis too late now. On our journey, Robin and I got married.”

“Congratulations!” Julia screamed with a broad smile, “’Tis about time!” At Marian’s quizzical glance, she giggled. “Everybody knew that you’ve always been in love with Lord Locksley and he with you…”

The three young noblewomen smiled as well, then Marian said:

“I want to take a closer look, to see how the rebuilding is going on…”

After taking their leave from the two peasant women, they led the horses to the building site. The master-builder caught sight of them and approached them. Surprised, Marian recognised the chief mason of Nottingham Castle.

“Master Giles!” she exclaimed happily.

“Lady Marian, how nice to see you!” the grizzled man cried, his sun-baked face lighting up in a smile. “I wasn’t aware you were back…”

“And I wasn’t aware that my house was being rebuilt”, the young woman replied. “I have been told that ‘twas Sir Guy who gave the order.”

“Aye, that’s true”, Giles confirmed. “And my instructions are to rebuild it exactly as it was.”

“And then, what?” Violet interjected. “Does he plan to entrust it to someone?”

Giles shrugged:

“I don’t know, m’lady. I’ve just orders to remake Knighton Hall exactly as before, I have no idea what the sheriff plans to do with it. Of course, I hope he wants to give it to Lady Marian… I’ll inform him that your back, m’lady”, he concluded.

“Better not”, Marian hastened to stop him, and at his perplexed glance she explained. “Let’s say we didn’t part on good terms last time we met. I’d rather let him know myself about my return, in due time. I have reason to think that, should Sir Guy find it out from others, he could take it the wrong way, and I don’t want to worsen our relationship.”

“I see”, the master-builder said. “I won’t say a word, and I’ll tell my men to do as much.”

Several workers had indeed stopped to look at the three beautiful ladies on horse talking to their superior.

“Thank you, Master Giles”, Marian said gratefully.

They took their leave of the master-builder and departed. Exiting the hamlet, Marian greeted a few other people, who welcomed her back warmly. From their conversation, it was clear the peasants expected her to come and stay at Knighton Hall, once the rebuilding was completed; but the young noblewoman could neither confirm nor deny, therefore she said nothing about this. Nor did she inform them about her marriage to Robin of Locksley which, as he was an outlaw, could be regarded as invalid, even if celebrated in the presence and with the blessing of King Richard in person.

They spurred their horses to a trot. Once out of sight from the village, in silent agreement all three slowed down to a walk.

“I’m stunned”, Rebelle declared. She didn’t need to specify what she was referring to.

“You’re telling me!” Marian confirmed.

“I’ve heard rumours in Nottingham”, Violet told them, “that Guy declared he wanted to reconstruct all the buildings that were destroyed on the old sheriff’s orders. Thinking back to the conversation we had one month ago, I wasn’t surprised; but I guessed he was referring only to farms and workshops. Possibly the miners’ huts at Treeton. I didn’t think he was determined to rebuild Knighton Hall too.”

“I never expected this”, Marian admitted. “He must be tapping into Vaisey’s treasure chests with both hands!”

“An excellent way to make use of the money the baron stole!” Rebelle cried.

“Mayhap he’s doing this because he feels guilty toward you, Marian?” Violet mused, and her friend nodded:

“That may well be. You have no idea how much horror I saw in his eyes when he realised I was wounded… he was so distraught that he dropped his sword. I don’t even know what happened to that weapon… Probably it simply stayed in that square in Acre and someone picked it up.”

“You sound so casual about it”, Violet commented, feeling slightly uncomfortable: she couldn’t believe Marian was taking it so lightly. After all, she had almost died.

“Trust me, at the time I couldn’t even breathe”, her friend told her. “I didn’t realise I had pushed Guy too far. He has forgiven me each time I had deceived and manipulated him in order to protect Robin and his guys, but everyone has a breaking point. I literally yelled in his face that I’d rather die than be his wife: that was the last straw. For a second, I saw my death in his eyes. He was furious when we began fighting. If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it when I was wounded, but he didn’t.”

They rode on in silence for some moments.

“Undoubtedly, his conscience stopped him”, Violet whispered. “He was a good lad, once. Working for the sheriff had corrupted him, but not all the way to the bottom. Remember, we suspect he has often made up things so that Robin could intervene to prevent him from executing the most execrable orders. Mayhap, in the very moment he confronted the possibility he could have killed you by accident, he has found out he still possesses a conscience.”

“Or mayhap he stopped because he heard Robin and the others rushing in”, Rebelle contemplated, more cynically. Violet nodded:

“We will never know; and neither will he, probably. And then, Vaisey died…” she nodded again, this time as if confirming something by herself. “Now this explains his changed attitude toward Nottingham’s peasants… and temporary appointment as the sheriff places him in the ideal position to act in the most efficient way to amend the vileness he committed in the past for the baron.” 

They rode on, in silence again, for a few minutes, pondering.

“His ambition devoured him”, Marian considered, thoughtfully. “Violet, do you think ‘tis no longer the case?”

Violet mused.

“I am under the impression that he’s still ambitious”, she answered at length, “but his aims are changed. Once, he wanted power for the sake of power; now, perhaps, he wants power to do something good. And that would be the Guy we knew as children. Do you remember how he was protective of his sister Isabella?”

Marian nodded:

“Yes, I remember well; but I was a little afraid of him. He was always so serious, he spoke little…”

Violet shrugged:

“I, on the other hand, have never been afraid of him. Quite the opposite, I felt a little sorry for him. When I returned to Chetwood, everyone talked about Gisborne’s cruelty, even you and Robin… I couldn’t believe it, not completely. Mayhap, after all, I wasn’t wrong…”

“I hope so”, Marian murmured. “I hope it for him, for the lad he was, and whom we used to know…”

“I certainly hope so too”, Rebelle intervened. “At least, we wouldn’t trade one despot for another”, she frowned. “Drastan doesn’t look to me as the kind of man willing to serve an evil man… He’s a younger son and he too has a certain ambition, but not as much to trample on everything and everyone to reach his goal. This too, I think, goes in favour of the thesis of a Guy who’s trying to redeem himself”, she concluded.

Violet cast her an amused glance.

“And since when do you know Drastan so well?”

“I _don’t_ know him well”, Rebelle explained hurriedly. “’Tis only an impression based on the few things we saw and learned about him.”

“But didn’t you think him insufferable?” her cousin mocked her.

“Of course, I did! And I still do!” the warrior maiden affirmed passionately. Marian raised one eyebrow, suspicious. Rebelle’s demeanour reminded her of her own toward Robin when he had just returned from the Crusade and she was still angry with him for having left her, but she actually was still in love with him. However, as she had not yet met Drastan of Greenmere nor seen how he and Rebelle interacted, she chose to say nothing.

When they returned to Chetwood Manor, a couple of hours after having departed from there, they had one partridge and two pheasants in the game bag, shot respectively by Violet and Marian, while Rebelle had missed a hare.

“I’ll take them to the kitchen”, Marian announced as they were approaching the stables. At that moment, they noticed the two horses tethered outside the building. Recognising them, Violet halted Snowflake; Rebelle and Marian did as well.

“Guy and Drastan are here”, Violet said, turning to look at her childhood friend. “If you don’t want to meet Guy, we can go in using the back way…”

Marian hesitated for one moment, then she shook her head and squared her shoulders.

“Sooner or later he’ll learn I’m back”, she declared firmly. “I think ‘tis better if he learns it from me instead from other people.”

“Perhaps we should prepare the groundwork a bit”, Rebelle suggested. “If he was really upset as you told us, he risks a severe shock, seeing you unawares.”

“I’ll take care of it”, Violet offered. “Marian, you take the game to the kitchen through the back door. Get off your horse before you pass in front of the house or Guy might see you from the window. Then wait in the kitchen. Meanwhile, Rebelle and I will take the horses back to the stables, then we will go inside and speak with Guy. After I have told him about you, Rebelle will come for you. Is that alright?”

Her two companions nodded, and thus they resumed moving. Shortly after, Violet and Rebelle entered the house where, as they expected, Drastan and Guy were sitting with William in the great hall. As a sign of respect, the two younger men stood up as the two women entered.

“Good afternoon, Lady Violet and Lady Isabelle”, Guy greeted them, bowing slightly; he was speaking to both, but his eyes rested only briefly on the younger woman and lingered instead on the other one.

“Good afternoon to you, my lords”, Violet reciprocated. She spoke flatly, but her heart made a leap as her gaze crossed the black-clad knight’s and locked there.

Like his friend, Drastan greeted both the ladies, but his eyes stayed glued on Rebelle. Noticing it, the maiden squared her shoulders, placing her hand on the hilt of her sword in an instinctively defensive way. Her movement however highlighted the curve of her breasts and, for a moment, the blond knight peeped downwards, but then, fearing she would resent it, he looked back up at her face. Was it a blush that he was witnessing? Very glad to see how he seemingly affected her, Drastan however carefully concealed his satisfaction so as not to arise her wrath. He had to keep in mind to treat her in a very different way than the other ladies and damsels, because Rebelle was completely different from any other woman he had ever met so far.

Violet removed her gaze from Guy’s grey-blue eyes.

“To what do we owe your visit?” she asked, moving into the room with Rebelle at her heels.

“We came to order ten barrels of cider for Nottingham Castle”, Guy answered, watching in admiration her gait, easy and elegant, not affected like some court ladies he had met, but fully natural.

Violet realised that the reason he had mentioned was something any servant of the castle could have been appointed to do. Why did he come personally instead?

“And to have the pleasure to see you beautiful ladies, of course”, Drastan added, his eyes sparkling and his lips slightly curved in an amused grin.

Rebelle rolled her eyes, showing exasperation, but if she wanted to be honest with herself as she always proclaimed she used to be, deep down she was flattered.

Guy too pulled a face, halfway amused and halfway annoyed, and Violet almost laughed out loud.

“Thank you, Sir Drastan, we’re honoured”, she replied vivaciously. “Did you say ten barrels? Did my father already inform you about the price?” she asked, taking a seat at the table next to William.

“Actually, I didn’t”, William answered. “I’m leaving the negotiation to you.”

“The price is no problem”, Guy said, sitting down again. Drastan did as well, while Rebelle remained standing behind her uncle and cousin. “You can take that up directly with my seneschal.”

“Very well. Which varieties are we talking about?”

“Eight barrels of the dry type and two of the sweet type.”

“I’ll have them delivered to the castle tomorrow morning”, Violet concluded in a practical tone. “Did my father mention our guest to you?” she enquired, deciding to confront the matter head-on. She doubted William had hinted to Marian, considering the fairly delicate matter, but it was as good a way as any other to introduce the topic.

“Um, no”, Guy answered, perplexed. “Who are you talking about?”

“’Tis a shared acquaintance, dating back to when we were children. She has just returned from a long journey in the Holy Land. We are putting her up here because at the moment she has nowhere to stay.”

Violet paused, watching Guy’s face closely to see his reaction. She had revealed enough to him to make him guess the identity of the person she was referring to. Indeed, she saw him pale and then, strangely, blush.

“Are you talking about Lady Marian of Knighton?” he asked, incredulously.

“Exactly”, Violet confirmed, surprised by his fluster. She thought she had never seen him redden.

 _Marian was alive!_ Guy thought, feeling his head spin. He stayed perfectly still for a moment, until his daze began to subside, then he stood hastily up.

“I’d better go, then”, he said in a dull tone. “I doubt Lady Marian wants to see me.”

“On the contrary”, Violet disagreed with him softly. “She wishes to meet you and talk to you. We know what happened between you two, in the Holy Land.”

“I wronged her in an unforgivable way”, the black-clad knight declared, bitterly. “How can she possibly want to meet me again?”

“’Tis up to her deciding if the wrong you did her is unforgivable or not, don’t you agree?” Violet observed quietly. Guy stood motionless, clenching and unclenching his fists, then he seemed to make up his mind and sat down again.

“Alright”, he said, looking at Violet. “I’ll face her judgement: ‘tis the least I owe her.”

During their debate, Drastan had kept silent, glancing from one to the other. His face clearly expressed perplexity and even a certain anxiety for Guy. He truly seemed to be a good friend, Violet thought, maybe the only one the provisional sheriff ever had in his life.

She cast a glance to her father, who nodded imperceptibly, thus she turned to Rebelle:

“Go and get Marian, please.”

The maiden nodded and quickly left, heading for the kitchen. Shortly after, she returned, followed by Marian.

As before, Guy and Drastan stood up as a mark of respect. Marian moved into the room and looked around to see who was there, then she turned her gaze to Guy, openly, but without any arrogance nor reproach. Guy held her gaze. He looked resigned, ready to take any punishment she would impose on him.

Marian halted in front of Guy. All eyes were on them. The young noblewoman was silent for a few moments, then she asked softly:

“Do you have something to tell me, Sir Guy?”

The knight winced at the sound of her voice. He closed his eyes for a moment, then he stared again into hers.

“To tell you, Lady Marian? No… only to ask: how can you bear the sight of me, after what I did to you in the Holy Land?”

“And what did you do to me, Sir Guy?”

“I… you know!”

“I want you to say it loud and clear”, she pressed him. “Only this way we can hope to talk it out.”

Again, Guy closed his eyes for a moment, and then he looked at her again. They could say any number of bad things about him, but not that he was a coward: he would face Marian’s judgement, whatever it might be.

“I almost killed you.”

“But you didn’t.”

“No... However, apparently ‘twas close, and this is dishonourable. Despicable. Unworthy of a man deserving to be called a man.”

Marian nodded.

“You’re right: only a coward kills a defenceless woman”, she sentenced him as a judge would have and Guy swallowed hard. “But the fact remains that you did _not_ , and that I’m no _defenceless_ woman. ‘Twas an accident. You didn’t try deliberately to kill me. This speaks in your favour, in favour of your honour, which mayhap you believed you didn’t possess anymore. Because of this accident, mayhap you have rediscovered it. An honourableness that urged you, as the new sheriff, to establish a more equitable taxation, as well as wanting to rebuild my family home. You didn’t _want_ to kill me: ‘twas an accident”, she repeated. 

Guy straightened his shoulders – he hadn’t even noticed they had sagged. On his face appeared an incredulous expression.

“Are you perchance saying I have any hope to be pardoned by you?” he asked in a barely audible voice.

Marian didn’t answer at once. She exchanged a glance with Violet, as if she wanted to ask her for advice, but after all she had always decided for herself, for years now, and she would do so this time too. She had manipulated and tricked Guy many times, in favour of her father, Sir Edward of Knighton, or Robin Hood and his gang; she had despised him for what he had become at the service of the malefic Baron of Nottingham, but she had never forgotten the serious and quiet lad of her childhood. She even had caught a glimpse of that lad, sometimes, when he had let his guard down in her presence.

She looked at Guy again.

“Perhaps. If you continue to show equanimity and rectitude as they told me you’ve been doing since your return – and as you used to do when you were a lad”, her face hardened. “Are you going to do it?”

Guy clenched his jaw.

“’Tis my intention to go on with my present conduct”, he declared. “For Nottingham’s good and for England’s. You’ll judge for yourself.”

“I’ll do that”, Marian confirmed. Her quiet firmness struck Violet. Apparently, the Holy Land had changed her too, as well as Guy, making her grow even more self-confident.

Guy, too, perceived the change. This was a more mature, more adult Marian, a woman and not a maiden anymore.

He recalled what she had yelled at him that last day.

“And Locksley?” he asked. “Where is he?”

“My husband is somewhere in the forest, of course”, she answered casually, “but I don’t know exactly where because, after returning from the Holy Land, he displaced the camp to prevent the chance that I could reveal, whether accidentally or under duress, where it is located.”

“Your husband”, Guy repeated, as his gaze darkened. “So you have married him. However, you know that marriage with an outlaw has no legal validity, don’t you?”

“It has, if celebrated by the king himself”, Rebelle interjected, unable to keep silent. Guy cast her a quick glance, glowering.

“Really?” he asked, still addressing Marian. “King Richard celebrated your marriage?”

“Precisely”, the young woman confirmed, raising her left hand to show the ring with the large ruby the king had given her to serve as a token of their nuptials. “This proves it: on the back of the bezel there’s King Richard’s monogram.”

Guy watched the ring closely, than he stretched out his hand:

“I do not doubt of your word, my lady, but as the sheriff, I must verify anyone’s affirmations, thus I ask you to show it to me.”

Marian didn’t object, both because she recognised the authority of Guy’s position and because she had nothing to hide. She took off her ring – it had been too big for her, but she had it sized by a jeweller in Acre – and she handed it to the new sheriff. Thinking of Guy in this role had a weird effect on her, she pondered.

Guy turned the ring and looked at the back of the bezel where, as Marian had said, he could see King Richard’s monogram. Drastan drew near him and Guy showed him the initials, so that his deputy could confirm the acknowledgement. Drastan nodded to signal it was good, so Guy returned the ring to Marian.

“Congratulations, my lady”, he said stiffly. “You succeeded in marrying Robin Hood, exactly as you wished.”

“Precisely”, she replied, slipping the ring back on her finger. “If you won’t see to lift the ban on his head, King Richard will do it by himself upon his return.”

“I know that your husband broke the law many times, in the last two years”, Drastan interjected, raising an eyebrow. “’Tis going to be tough, lifting the ban.”

“’Tis not impossible”, William made himself heard. “A sheriff has the authority to condone an outlaw’s crimes, if ‘tis proved that such crimes have been committed for a greater good. I daresay that’s Robin Hood’s case, as he stole money of taxes that you yourself, Sir Guy, have called iniquitous; and he defended poor peasants from unnecessary, arbitrary and gratuitous abuse and violence ordered by the Baron of Nottingham. And if he killed someone, ‘twas always in self-defence”, he watched the acting sheriff closely. “Besides, the Earl of Huntingdon is favoured by King Richard who, whether Prince John likes it or not, is and still remains the one and only King of England.”

“But an absent king he is”, Guy observed dryly, “and this complicates things, for Hood, because in the king’s absence, I cannot be confirmed as the Sheriff of Nottingham and I remain an acting sheriff. This limits some of my options, among which condoning without the Prince Regent’s consent what my predecessor ascribed as crimes. And knowing the friendship between him and the baron, I doubt that Prince John would concede his seal of approval. I’m sorry, Lady Marian, but for the remission of the ban you’ll have to wait for the return of the king from the Holy Land.” Seeing her opening her mouth to protest, he stopped her with a wave of his hand and went on. “However, I can promise that I won’t prosecute him, as long as he doesn’t interfere with my authority. This means that he mustn’t rob the wagons with the taxes that _I_ had my tax men collecting, nor merchants or nobles travelling on the county’s roads, inside or outside Sherwood, robbing them of their valuables to give them to the needy. This, because with my taxation policy, there should be no needy in our hamlets anymore. Please, inform Hood about my proposal. If he’ll accept it, there will be truce between the two of us. You have my word.”

Many negative things could be said about the former Guy, however, it could not be said that he had ever broken his word. The new Guy – or rather, the Guy who had come back to his senses – was even more reliable. Therefore, Marian had no hesitations in answering, “I accept your word, Sir Guy.”

Violet smiled, relieved. Now her childhood friend, Robin, wouldn’t have to be afraid of being hanged any longer.

Guy looked away from Marian to gaze at Violet as she beamed. The black-clad knight realised that her smile meant more to him than the approval he had just received from Marian. Yet, he owed Marian, after what he did – or thought he had done – to her in the Holy Land. So why did he care more about Violet’s approval?

Marian saw his gaze resting upon her friend, and she easily guessed that Guy fancied Violet. He fancied her _a lot_. But perhaps he didn’t realise it yet.

None of her thoughts, however, showed on her face, because she didn’t want to embarrass anyone, least of all Violet.

“Well then”, Guy said, standing. “Let me know what Hood’s answer is. You could deliver a message for me along with the cider barrels”, he concluded.

Drastan rose in turn and the two knights took their leave.

As they were riding away, Guy felt Drastan’s inquisitive gaze on his back, but his friend didn’t ask him any questions, respecting his reserve. He stayed silent for a while, pondering if he should reveal to him what had occurred in the Holy Land with Marian and Robin. Drastan knew nothing about his involvement with the Black Knights and their plot, or about his attempt to kill King Richard, but at this point, he couldn’t keep silent about what had happened with Marian.

“I cannot reveal to you all the details”, he thus began, “but when we left for the Holy Land, Vaisey and I took Lady Marian with us. Against her will.”

He cast a quick glance to his friend and saw him frowning, more absorbed than reproving.

“Against her will?” he repeated. “Why?”

“She was aware of… a certain dirty business of Vaisey’s, which I should have carried out”, Guy explained, feeling a sting of shame. “That’s why we forced her to come with us. Robin Hood and his gang pursued us. I… thought I was in love with Marian. I had already proposed her in the past…” he laughed bitterly. “Who am I kidding? Truth is I had blackmailed her, forcing her to accept becoming my wife. We came before the priest, but she left me at the last moment”, he paused, recalling how she had punched him hard in the face when she had realised he had lied to her about the return of the king. “I was furious with her, so much that, as soon as the sheriff gave me the opportunity, I didn’t hesitate to burn down her house and arrest her and her father. Then, in the Holy Land I pleaded with her again to marry me, but she refused me vehemently declaring that the one and only man she would ever marry, the one and only man she loved was Robin Hood. I lost my mind, we fought and I realised I wounded her. Robin’s arrival with his men prevented the irreparable.” 

“I heard that”, Drastan said. “You know, in these months since we’re back together, I guessed you had something heavy on your conscience. Was it this?” he saw Guy nodding in confirmation. “Aren’t you glad you’ve cleared things up with Lady Marian?”

“Of course I am, even if frankly I wouldn’t have believed she’d be willing to talk to me again, even less to forgive me”, Guy thinned his lips. “What kind of a man was I, Drastan? I disgust myself!”

Drastan was silent for a few moments, musing about what Guy had disclosed and pondering rumours he had heard and impressions he had been under, weighing also the knowledge he had on the pro tempore sheriff.

“I know you’re not an evil man”, he said slowly. “Bitter, ambitious, even cynical, all _that_ you are, or have been, because of your life’s events. But you’re not an evil man, in the strict sense you’re not cruel and do not love inflicting pain. You’re never been like that. From what I understand of the whole affair, Vaisey was your plague. He exploited God knows what weaknesses of yours and induced you to act in dishonourable ways. But now that you’re free from his influence and from the chains he put on you, you’re trying to make amends, and this speaks loud and clear, about your lack of evilness. Mayhap the rest of your life won’t even be enough to undo what you did at Lord Nottingham’s orders, but this won’t prevent you from trying nonetheless. Am I right?”

Guy felt immensely grateful to his friend because he wasn’t judging him. He wasn’t even absolving him – this, only God could do – but he was nevertheless encouraging and supporting him.

“You’re right”, he murmured in such a low voice, Drastan barely heard him. “Thank you for your words, my friend.”

On that day, their friendship, if possible, became even stronger.


	10. Chapter X

Chapter X

Nottingham, May 8th, 1194, morning

On the Sunday before Pentecost, the traditional horse market-fair was taking place outside Nottingham’s walls, where breeders and merchants of the whole county and the nearby counties of York, Lincoln, Leicester and Derby met to exchange ideas and experiences and, of course, to do business.

Robin had hesitated about the proposal Guy had presented to him through Marian. He and his men were still distrustful, but Marian’s and Violet’s arguments and insistences convinced them to give him a chance, so in the end his answer had been in the positive. Guy had given further proof of his good will: stressing to the limits his prerogatives as the acting sheriff, he had _suspended_ the ban on Robin’s head, waiting for King Richard to return and decide on the matter. For this reason, Robin had gone back to dwelling in Locksley Manor, taking possession again of his fief and of his peerage as the Earl of Huntingdon, and with him went of course Marian, the new countess. The peasants had welcomed them with rejoicing and had made a great feast that had lasted one day and one night.

On that day, Robin and Marian too were attending the fair, with no subterfuge or disguise at last. Robin wanted to purchase several horses to repopulate his stables because Vaisey had ransacked them, seizing all of his best thoroughbred horses and selling them. Besides, Robin also wanted to give Marian a horse as a present. Violet was with them, while Rebelle instead was heading to see for a courser: William of Chetwood’s warhorse was next to retirement, being now very old. The elderly knight didn’t want another warhorse, afraid that it could be too challenging for his age, but he didn’t even want a docile lady’s palfrey, therefore he had decided to purchase a courser and had appointed his niece to choose it for him.

After having watched closely a good number of coursers without ever being completely satisfied, she singled out a young dapple-grey horse, slender but stout-legged, which she liked very much. She approached the paddock where he stood, along with another half a dozen of specimens of other colours, and identified the merchant who, dressed in gaudy garments, was leaning against the fence. She recognised him.

“Good morning, Master Riller”, she greeted him.

“Oh, hullo, Lady Isabelle!” the merchant reciprocated, straightening his back and then bowing to her. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, how much for that horse?” Rebelle asked, getting straight to the point.

“I’m sorry, I already sold it”, Riller apologised, “but I have other ones, that roan for instance…”

“No, ‘tis a beautiful specimen, but the grey one would be ideal for my uncle. To whom did you sell it? Perchance I could convince him to resell it to me.”

“Sir Drastan of Greenmere.”

“Oh.”

Rebelle’s shoulders sagged: something told her that the negotiation with the handsome blond knight would be difficult.

Instead, it proved even too easy, but surely unorthodox… or even dangerous.

After having asked around, Rebelle singled out Drastan at the beer stall where he was drinking a tankard of foamy brew.

“Good morning, Lady Isabelle”, he greeted her as soon as he caught sight of her. “I was truly hoping to see you, today. May I buy you a drink?”

“Good morning to you, sir”, the maiden answered. “Thank you, I’ll gladly have a beer.”

Drastan signalled to the girl to fetch another tankard, which she brought a few moments later.

“Come, let’s take a seat”, the knight invited Rebelle, pointing at one of the free tables. She accepted with a good grace that surprised him, as so far the maiden had always acted rather gruffly with him. He discovered at once the reason for her willingness.

“My uncle appointed me to look for a courser on his behalf”, Rebelle began straightforwardly, “and I saw one that would be perfect, but unfortunately they told me it has already been sold to you.”

“Oh? You’re referring to Silvermist, Riller’s dapple-grey horse?”

“Precisely”, she confirmed, taking a sip of her beer.

“I’m sorry, I just got there first.”

“Would you consider the possibility of reselling it to me? Of course with a reasonable extra charge. Let’s say, ten percent?”

Drastan too took a sip, pondering. He realised suddenly he had the upper hand here.

“I like Silvermist very much”, he considered slowly, still uncertain on how he could exploit his advantage. “I don’t know…”

“Fifteen percent”, Rebelle offered. “It would be a fair profit, for you, and without even lifting a finger.”

Drastan placed his tankard on the table and looked at her straight in the face.

“I cannot believe that throughout the whole fair you haven’t found another horse to your liking”, he commented, sincerely perplexed.

“There _are_ a few, actually, but Silvermist is the best and I’d like to have it for my uncle. Are you willing to sell it to me or not?” Rebelle concluded, not wasting time in niceties as usual. Drastan meditated for a few moments, then he made up his mind.

“I’m not interested in profit in terms of money”, he declared, looking into her eyes.

“In what else, then?” Rebelle urged him. Drastan’s gaze lowered to her lips and the maiden held her breath. She was sure that the blond knight would ask her what he hadn’t been able to obtain at the tournament: a true kiss. She felt torn between two opposite feelings: if on one hand she didn’t mind at all consenting to such a request, but, on the other hand the idea he would take advantage of the situation, even going as far as to blackmail, made her feel like he had profoundly failed her.

Drastan propped his elbows on the table and leaned toward Rebelle.

“I’d be much more interested in a kiss from you”, he said in a low voice. “A kiss on the lips, Lady Isabelle, a true kiss, not such as you gave me on Easter Day”, he saw her stiffen and tighten her lips, “but I won’t ask this.” At her surprised glance, he explained. “If one day you’d want to kiss me, I wish this will be by your choice, because you want it as much as I do, not because you have to do it in order to obtain something of me”, he took his tankard and raised it. “I’ll resell Silvermist to you at the price I paid for it. Do we have a deal?”

For the first time since he met her, he received a smile from Rebelle, such a beautiful one his heart stopped in his chest for a moment.

“You’re a true gentleman, Sir Drastan”, the warrior maiden declared, raising in turn her tankard. She touched it to his. “We have a deal.”

They drank to seal the agreement. Drastan was very satisfied with himself, even proud, because he felt he had achieved the goal of winning Rebelle’s respect.

“Let’s go to Riller”, he said when they were finished drinking, “and settle the sale contract.”

Rebelle agreed. The merchant had still to pen the document, therefore it was enough that, instead of Drastan’s name, he wrote Isabelle of Rivendale’s on behalf of William of Chetwood. Rebelle paid and agreed with Riller that she would come and fetch Silvermist ere evening, when she would go home.

“I confess you surprised me, Sir Drastan”, Rebelle said, as they were leaving the paddock and advancing among the stalls offering every possible and imaginable accessory for horse and horseman, besides food and drinks. “I was expecting you’d insist with the kiss thing. I’d be very disappointed with you, if you would have done so.”

Drastan decided to be honest, aware that frankness was the most direct way to keep Rebelle’s respect which he had had such a hard time winning.

“Not that I didn’t consider it”, he confessed therefore, “but then, _I_ would be disappointed with myself”, he suddenly made up his mind about something and he stopped walking. “Lady Isabelle, I like you in a way I never liked a woman before”, he declared, as she, too, stopped and turned to look at him. “You’re different from any other woman I ever met. You’re beautiful, brave and smart, and proud, but also compassionate, as your care for your uncle and your cousin shows. I… ask your permission to woo you.”

Rebelle’s eyes widened as she stared at him in amazement: nobody, ever, had asked her this. She had dallied with a few soldiers, but it had been always only trifles, fleeting moments lasting a festive evening. She had never wanted to go further than kisses and quite daring caresses, driven more by curiosity than desire.

“Sir Drastan… I don’t know what to say…”

“Say nothing, then. Would you think about it? I very much hope that you say _aye_ , but should it be _nay_ , know that I’ll respect your decision.”

Rebelle was silent, pondering the importance of what Drastan had just said. Besides this, to woo her officially the blond knight had to ask for Sir William’s consent, since he was her guardian. The fact he had come to her first and was declaring himself willing to respect a possible refusal from her part… well, this was something unheard of. The warrior maiden thought fleetingly of Guy of Gisborne who, instead, following the usual custom, had imposed himself upon Marian, even getting to the point to force her into marriage, regardless of the fact she wanted none of him.

“Alright”, she then said. “I’ll think about it.”

Drastan addressed to her his dazzling smile:

“I’m glad to hear this, Lady Isabelle.”

“Rebelle”, she corrected him impulsively. “All of my friends call me Rebelle.”

Drastan’s smile broadened.

“I’m honoured you include me in the number of your friends, Lady Rebelle.”

She laughed.

“Just Rebelle, for pity’s sake!”

“Then you’ll call me just Drastan, agreed?”

“Of course… Drastan.”

They resumed strolling amongst the stalls. Actually, Rebelle was supposed to go looking for Violet, Robin and Marian immediately after closing the deal on a courser for William, but now she wanted to enjoy the blond knight’s company without the presence of the others.

They passed in front of Martha’s stall, whose pies and quiches were renowned throughout Nottingham and the neighbourhood. Rebelle, absorbed in the search for the right horse for her uncle, had skipped lunch and now, smelling the delicious aroma of the meat pies, her mouth watered and her stomach grumbled. Drastan heard the revealing noise and cast her a glance:

“Are you hungry, Rebelle?”

“I didn’t have lunch”, the maiden confessed, “and now I’m _starving_.”

“This is an easy fix”, Drastan laughed, heading with no hesitation to Martha’s stall. “What do we have here today, lass?” he asked the woman.

“Beef and mushrooms, barley with peas, or chicken with onion, my lord”, she answered, approaching him. “If you prefer something sweet, then there are tarts with apples, pears or plums. Oh, good morning, Lady Isabelle”, she added, catching sight of the maiden who had halted next to the sheriff’s deputy.

“Good morning, Martha”, Rebelle returned her greeting. “Give me a beef pie, please.”

“I’ll have a slice of pear tart”, Drastan made himself heard. He drew out his money pouch and insisted that he pay. Martha gave them what they had required on two wooden cutting boards, then they went to take a seat at a table in front of the stall.

“We also need something for a drink”, the knight commented, looking around. “Cider?” he suggested, gesturing toward the next stall. Rebelle, who had just bitten into her pie, nodded her consent. A few moment later, Drastan returned with two earthenware glasses, one with dry cider for her and the other with sweet cider for him.

Rebelle devoured her beef pie under Drastan’s amused gaze. He noticed that her manners, even if less polished than one could expect from a lady, weren’t however as rude as the manners of an ordinary soldier, revealing she had been provided with a good education.

Drastan had left some of his tart in order to offer it to Rebelle.

“Want to taste it?” he asked her.

“Yes, thank you”, she accepted with a smile Drastan found more delicious than the dessert. He handed her his cutting board and she took the bit, slipping it into her mouth.

“Lovely!”

“I agree”, the knight nodded. “Tell me, Rebelle, do you have a sweet or a savoury tooth?”

“Sweet”, she admitted.

“I, too.”

“Do you like eating?”

“Pretty much. Gluttony might be one of the capital sins, but ‘tis one of the greatest pleasures of life and, as I’m no monk, I don’t see why I have to deprive myself.”

“I agree with you”, Rebelle declared. “Priests, monks and nuns can do as they please, but they cannot force me to do what they do. ‘Tis enough if I observe Lent.”

Drastan grinned:

“I feel the same way!”

They drank another tankard each, this time sweet cider, then they rose and resumed their stroll among the stalls, walking side by side very close to one another. So close that Rebelle felt the heat radiating from Drastan’s body.

In the distance, she caught sight of Gisborne’s tall, black-clad shape and, next to him, she could see Violet. If Violet was there, then probably Marian and Robin were there too, despite Gisborne’s presence. Shortly they would cross paths and she wouldn’t be alone with Drastan anymore.

Caught by an unexpected impulse, she grasped the knight’s hand and pulled him into a small alley, behind a heap of baskets hiding them from the sight of anyone passing along the street.

“You said you wanted me to kiss you for my wish”, she murmured, drawing him to her. “Well, I wish to kiss you.”

She realised she had wanted it for some time. Not since this day, not even since the last time she had met him. The truth was that she had wanted to kiss him since the very moment they had made eye contact, even if back then she would throw herself into the Trent (*) rather than admit it. Drastan was almost eight inches taller than her, so she lifted her face to his, but froze there, as she had been already bold enough and didn’t feel like going further, kissing him first.

Drastan was happily amazed, no, more than just that: he was delighted. He smiled, placing his hands on her shoulders and then slipping them downwards. Looking into her eyes, he clasped her hands and lifted them behind his neck, and then wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close to himself. He felt his body tingle as her soft curves pressed against him, like he had often dreamt in the one and a half month since he had met her for the first time. His gaze dropped to her rosy lips, parted and inviting. He began to bend forward, then a scruple held him back.

“Rebelle... are you sure?”

As soon as he said it, he wanted to slap himself. There she was, at last in his arms, ready to be kissed like he had ardently wanted for weeks, and what was he doing? Asking confirmation about something she had already so explicitly declared she wished, with the risk she would change her mind. Never, ever in his life had he not instantly taken advantage on what a maiden offered him...

But Isabelle of Rivendale was no fickle court damsel, she was instead a warrior maiden who knew exactly what she wanted, and when she wanted it.

“Absolutely”, she answered softly. “Kiss me, Drastan...”

Drastan had no need to be told twice. He lowered his head and placed his lips on Rebelle’s. He heard her holding her breath. Slowly, cautiously, he skimmed her lower lip with the tip of his tongue.

Rebelle felt her knees becoming weak and behind her eyelids she saw an explosion of light. Suddenly the noises of the crowded market – the shuffling of paces, the voices of the passers-by, the shouting of the merchants, the snorts and neighs of the horses – disappeared and she heard only the thumping of her heart resonating in her ears. She opened her mouth and waited. She expected a wild, almost brutal invasion, as it had almost always happened in the past, but instead Drastan lingered to caress her lips, at first with his own, then with his tongue, gently. Then, slowly, she felt him deepening the kiss. Feeling a strange trepidation, Rebelle moved timidly her tongue to stroke his. Drastan reciprocated, skimming it slowly. Rebelle’s hands moved as if they had a life of their own, going up his nape, and her fingers slipped through his hair. The kiss became more intense. Usually, at this point her partner would begin to rummage around her body, groping her breasts, her derrière or even between her legs. Instead, Drastan just held her tighter. She heard him uttering a sound, halfway between a groan and a sigh, low and exciting. A similar sound escaped her.

Drastan was dizzy as if intoxicated. Never before had he felt an emotion so great in kissing a woman, except perhaps the first time. However, the first time he had been too exalted to realise how his partner was reacting, while this time he was perfectly aware of Rebelle’s every movement, every tremble, every breath. He strove to take it easy. He assumed she was already experienced with men, but he couldn’t tell for sure and, in case he was wrong, he didn’t want to look too hasty, therefore he began sweetly. He felt her responding at first shyly, then with increasing confidence. When he felt her fingers into his hair, he held her tighter, kissing her more sensually. Her response, equally sensual, called forth a groan from him. His breeches became suddenly too tight.

They kissed for so long they lost all sense of time. When finally their mouths parted, not because they were satiated but for sheer need for air, minutes or hours could have passed by.

“Rebelle...” Drastan whispered, his voice hoarse. “If you kiss me this way, does it mean you accept my courtship...? Because if not, I’d have a very, very hard time to leave you alone, now...”

“I accept it”, she assured him, “but only if you’re willing to respect me as a person, the way I am, my wishes, my aspirations, as my father did and as Uncle William does. Otherwise, I’ll stay unmarried for life.”

“I have no intention of becoming your master”, Drastan declared. “I don’t want to change a single thing about you, because this would mean destroying exactly what I most like about you”, his hands slipped downwards to grasp her hips. Against her abdomen, Rebelle felt the bulge of his virility and a strange heat bloomed inside her. “I hope to get you yearning for me as much as I yearn for you, and make you forget about any other man you might have had before me...”

Astonished, Rebelle was about to tell him she never had any man, but Drastan kissed her again in such a way her knees almost buckled. She grabbed his shoulders so as not to fall, returning his kiss with matching passion.

Aroused by her reaction, Drastan pushed her back against the wall, pressing himself into her body but careful not to crush her. He left her mouth to bend lower and kiss her neck and throat, brushing her skin with his lips.

Rebelle shivered, excited, and with a sigh lifted one leg, snaking it around Drastan’s. This way, their nether parts came into contact. Drastan uttered a groan and rocked his pelvis, rubbing it against hers, making her moan in turn. Good heaven, he thought, dazed, he had been right in believing Rebelle to be a very sensual woman. In bed she would surely satisfy him, at least as much as he intended to satisfy her. The thought of hearing her screaming in pleasure excited him so much that his erection began to pulse painfully, demanding release.

He pulled brusquely away from Rebelle. Seeing her staggering, he promptly held her up until she found her balance again. The glance she cast him was completely bewildered.

“Forgive me”, he croaked. “We’re not even betrothed and I was about to take you standing against a wall, like a woman of easy virtue... I’m not showing you the respect you ask and deserve. Forgive me”, he repeated.

Rebelle blinked rapidly. She felt as if she had been about to cross the threshold to Heaven, and the doors had been brusquely slammed shut into her face. Then Drastan’s words pierced the fog dimming her brain and she felt both moved and embarrassed: moved, because he was treating her precisely with the respect she had asked him for, and embarrassed, because she had never behaved so shamelessly with anyone, before.

“There’s nothing to forgive”, she whispered. “After all, I went along with it...” then the way he had expressed himself struck her and her gaze turned quizzical. “You mean you don’t think I’m a woman of easy virtue?” she asked, perplexed.

“Absolutely not”, he affirmed. His answer confused her even more After all, Drastan thought she had given herself to other men, before him, and this would define her automatically as a slut, but before she could ask for explanations about this apparent contradiction, the blond knight resumed talking:

“Unlike the current morality, which I believe very stupid, I think that a woman free of commitments has the right to give herself to whomever she wants, as much as a man does. And I think that a committed man has the duty to stay true as much as a woman does. Rebelle, what happened in your past or in mine has nothing to do with the present. Let’s forget about it.”

Rebelle hesitated, then nodded. After all, there was no hurry to inform him that she was still a virgin. She would tell him when they would reach that moment. She didn’t doubt it would come soon, because she had decided that Drastan would be her first man – and maybe also the last. Like she had promised Violet, she had decided in complete freedom, without being pushed by the man concerned who, instead, had backed out because he truly respected her, and respect was the most valuable thing of all, for Violet, as far as considering it a fundamental element indispensable for any kind of relationship, even between man and woman, and she had taught her to consider it in the same way.

Drastan gave her his hand with a weak smile:

“Better we go. I don’t want to push my luck further.”

Rebelle accepted his hand, which he then slipped under his arm. Together, they returned to the street and walked amidst the crowd. The maiden craned her neck, trying to single out again Gisborne and the others. After a few minutes, she saw them in front of Baxter the saddler’s stall and pointed them out for Drastan. The fair-haired knight nodded to confirm he had seen them in turn.

“Tonight I’ll accompany you to Chetwood”, he told her as they headed for their friends, “and I’ll formally ask your uncle for permission to woo you”, he realised he was feeling nervous. “Do you think he will grant it to me?”

“I don’t see why not”, Rebelle answered, surprised.

“He could think that I’m interested solely in your fortune, as you’re the only heir to Rivendale.”

Rebelle hadn’t taken this into account.

“Then it’s up to you to convince him that you’re not”, she concluded easily.

“Well, I’ve never been a spendthrift and over the years I’ve amassed a decent amount of money”, Drastan mused. “Besides, Guy pays me well for my services. In short, I’m not a destitute man.”

He stopped talking because they had almost joined the others. Catching sight of them over Violet’s shoulder, Guy nodded to them in greeting. Noticing his gesture, Violet turned around.

“Oh, Rebelle, you’re here at last... I was beginning to worry you lost yourself”, she greeted her in a slightly chiding tone that revealed her concern. Then she noticed that her cousin had her arm under Drastan’s, a completely unusual conduct for her.

“I’m sorry”, the maiden apologised, “but I had a hard time finding a courser worth of Uncle William, and then the only one I found suitable had already been taken by Drastan. Fortunately, he agreed to resell it to me.”

Violet arched an eyebrow hearing her speaking of him in such a familiar way. Then, she gazed at her cousin more closely and noticed she had a vaguely dishevelled appearance, her cheeks flushed, her gaze sparkling. She cast a glance to Drastan and found his appearance was equal to Rebelle’s.

What had happened, between the two of them?

(*) River crossing Nottingham


	11. Chapter XI

Chapter XI

Nottingham, May 8th, 1194, morning

After Rebelle had parted with them to look for the right horse for William, Violet, Marian and Robin had strolled about in the fair-market on their own.

“I need at least four horses”, Robin mused repeating for Violet what he had already discussed with his wife. “A destrier for me, a palfrey for Marian, and two spare horses.”

“A good thing Vaisey didn’t confiscate your workhorses”, Violet commented, pulling a face.

“Yea”, Marian nodded. “At least, this way the peasants could still work…”

“If only I knew to whom he had sold them, I could try and buy them back”, Robin sighed, as he had been fond of all of his coursers which the baron had commandeered to fund his journey to the Holy Land without having to break into his treasure.

“You only need to ask Sir Guy to check the books of sales”, Violet observed in a practical tone. Skilled administrator of her husband’s fief earlier and of her father’s now, the solution looked obvious to her; not so for Robin and Marian, both used to delegate the management of their estates to their attendants, therefore they looked at her in surprise.

“Ah… I didn’t think about it”, the Earl of Huntingdon commented, frowning. “I admit that I don’t like the idea though.”

“Don’t let your dislike of Gisborne influence you”, his wife admonished him. “After all, he didn’t _have_ to propose you a deal so that you could take possession again of your estate.”

Robin’s expression darkened. He didn’t like to owe the man who had been such a fierce adversary, but his true enemy had actually been the Baron of Nottingham and not Gisborne.

However, Marian was right, therefore he just nodded.

“Well, then before going on with the purchase of new horses, I suggest to go looking for Sir Guy and ask him about the books”, Violet interjected. “There’s a chance that, amongst the merchants attending the fair, there are those whom Vaisey sold the horses he seized!”

“’Tis surely possible”, Robin admitted, with a glimmer of hope that made him hate less the thought he had to ask Gisborne for help.

They crossed the drawbridge and entered into town, heading for the castle where they asked if the sheriff could meet them. Of course, the sheriff didn’t meet everyone or at any moment, but as the Earl of Huntingdon was a high-ranking nobleman, they had good chances.

Indeed, soon after a page escorted them to the sheriff’s office. As they came in, Guy rose.

“What an unexpected pleasure, ladies”, he met the women, bowing to them. “Locksley”, he added with cold politeness.

“Gisborne”, Robin reciprocated in an equal tone. They had a truce, not peace, but at least they didn’t jump at each other’s throat every time they met. _This is already an improvement_ , Violet mused.

“We need a favour, Sir Guy”, Marian began, believing with reason that the sheriff would prefer having to do with her rather than with Robin.

“Speak freely, my lady”, Guy invited her. As he learned what they were looking for, he sent for the books and searched them personally while his three petitioners waited sitting on the chairs he had offered them.

“Here we are”, he said after a while, pointing at one page. “ _Lockley confiscation_ ”, he read aloud, “ _two Barbary horses, one Friesian and one Arabian sold to Robert Mallory, two Friesian horses and two Syrian sold to Nicholas Moore_ ”, he added, naming two merchants of Nottingham that were surely attending the fair. He then mentioned the amounts and Robin glowered:

“These are ridiculously low sums, for such high-quality horses.” 

“Obviously”, Marian commented. “The baron had no time to lose in negotiations, in his haste to leave.”

“Don’t expect to buy them back at the same price, Locksley”, Guy warned him, closing the book. “Neither of them is famous for his generosity, especially Mallory.”

“Knowing the purchase price, I’ll offer them a fair earning, but they had better not try to take advantage of me”, Robin said. “Anyway, I have known Moore for many years, it shouldn’t be difficult to find an agreement. With Mallory it will be mayhap more difficult”, he rose. “Thank you, Gisborne”, he muttered.

Everyone saw the effort that was costing him thanking his now ex-antagonist. Both Violet and Marian appreciated it, and Guy too credited him, even if rather grudgingly. It wasn’t easy for him forgetting about their enmity either.

“Don’t mention it, Locksley”, he muttered in turn.

Marian and Violet stood up, ready to take their leave. Guy rose in turn.

“I’m coming with you”, he declared, and to Robin’s startled glance, he explained, “My presence will prevent possible disputes about the price of your horses, Locksley.”

“Assuming we’ll find them”, Robin grumbled. The sheriff nodded.

“Assuming we’ll find them, sure”, he repeated.

He preceded them out of his office, then he gestured them to go on as he closed the door. In the hallway, he walked up next to Violet, while Robin and Marian ambled ahead of them.

“How are you, milady? And your father?” he asked.

“We’re both fine, thank you”, she answered. The smile she gave him was as spontaneous and bright as those she had given him when they were children and, for a moment, he felt as if his heart was fluttering. How long had it been since a woman smiled at him in such a genuine way, without hiding shrewdness or fear or contempt? He didn’t remember.

“And what about you?” Violet asked. This, too, was something Guy didn’t remember how long it had been since: someone asked him how he was with true interest.

“Me? I’m fine…” he answered absent-mindedly, then he thought better. “I’m fine”, he repeated with more conviction. “I’m much better than I was when I came back. Good things happened in my life since, things I didn’t hope or believe could ever happen again… like meeting you, my lady.”

Violet’s disconcerted glance made him shut up at once. What had gotten into him, telling her such a thing? He sounded like Drastan trying to seduce a maiden. This wasn’t like him. However, he couldn’t deny the truth of what he had just stated: meeting Violet of Chetwood after so many a year had truly been a good and unhoped-for thing.

Violet didn’t know what to think.

“I… don’t believe I can take any credit, Sir Guy”, she murmured.

Guy realised she was embarrassed and regretted having spoken, because the last thing he wanted was to make her feel uneasy. Now he couldn’t take back his words though, he could only try to lighten them.

“You are one of the few good memories of my childhood”, he said in a low voice, “and therefore, I’m glad I met you again, because you remind me of happier times.”

“Oh… I see”, she murmured, struck by his confession. Where was the sarcastic, brutal, avid, ruthless Guy who had been at the service of the Baron of Nottingham…? Perhaps he never had really existed; it had been merely a way to survive, to save himself, to save his family that had lost everything, to win back a position comparable to the one he was born into. Now he had apparently realised that he had messed it all up and, as soon as the chance to remedy had come, he had seized it and was now acting in consequence. He was still hard, resolute, combative and fierce as before, but now his actions were tempered by a sense of justice she found admirable.

Inadvertently, they had distanced themselves from the other two. Noticing it, Violet increased her pace to join them and Guy did as well, his long legs having no trouble to keep up with her short but quick strides.

Robin and Marian had stopped to wait for them at the top of the staircase. Violet noted that Marian was looking at them with an intrigued gaze, but she made no comment. Violet wondered what she was thinking, but she decided it would be inappropriate to ask her now, in the presence of others.

“Gisborne, do you perchance know where Mallory’s and Moore’s paddocks are located?” Robin asked as they set out down the steps.

“No, but I suppose just asking around will be enough.”

After leaving town, they began asking the passers-by and, at the third request, they learned that Mallory had set up his paddock next to the south-eastern corner of the city walls. After about ten minutes they had found it and they looked for the merchant at once. Recognising Guy’s tall shape, Mallory hastened towards them.

“Good morning, Sir Guy”, he greeted him. “Congratulations on your appointment as the Sheriff of Nottingham.”

Guy made a gesture as if chasing away an annoying fly.

“No pleasantries, Mallory”, he said briskly. “Where are the horses the baron sold you? The ones from the Locksley confiscation?”

“I sold the Arabian and one of the Barbary horses, but I still have the other Barbary and the Friesian horses”, the merchant answered, frowning. “Why?”

“They were mine and I’d like to buy them back”, Robin interjected, coming forward.

“Yours?” Mallory asked, struck. “You’re Robin Hood?”

“Precisely.”

“I can sell nothing to an outlaw”, the merchant observed, clearly confused. “You know that well! But… Sir Guy, why aren’t you arresting him?”

“I suspended the ban on him”, the sheriff explained concisely. “Thus, you can proceed with no infringement of the law, but be careful about the amount you’re going to ask, because Locksley knows the purchase price of his horses.”

The warning was clear: Mallory had better not overly increase the cost of the animals. Therefore, Robin could buy them at a very good price, both because Vaisey had sold them at a cut rate due to his haste, and because in the Middle East he had learned to haggle fiercely over the price.

When they closed the deal, Robin informed the merchant that before nightfall his attendant would come to take the horses and pay the sum they had agreed on.

As they left Mallory’s paddock, Violet looked at the position of the sun.

“’Tis almost midday: what about getting some food before going and look for Moore?”

Robin shook his head in the negative.

“I’d rather not wait any longer: I’m afraid he may sell my horses precisely in the timeframe we’d need to have lunch.”

“Assuming he still owns them”, Guy observed, reminding him what they had already discussed earlier.

“Mallory still had two out of four, mayhap with Moore I’ll be even luckier”, Robin replied, feeling heartened by the first success. “I don’t want to take chances. But if you, Violet, are too hungry, go for lunch. You, too, Marian, if you like. I’m quite capable to manage on my own.”

“I’d rather come with you”, Marian declared, then she glanced at Violet, “but I’m sorry leaving you alone…”

“She won’t be alone”, Guy intervened. “I can be her escort.”

Instinctively, Robin was about to refuse, but now things were very different from when he had set out to Marian’s rescue. Even if he would probably need years before being ready to trust him completely, he had to admit reluctantly that Guy had _actually_ changed. After all, Robin was there, free to move about the crowd barefaced, with Marian openly at his side, and that was the strongest evidence. To say nothing of the help he had received in tracing his confiscated horses.

“If Violet doesn’t mind…” he began.

“I don’t”, she confirmed. “You may go. I’ll wait for you at Martha’s stall and I’ll tell her to keep two of her meat-pies warm for you.”

Thus, Robin and Marian took their leave to go looking for Moore.

“No need to escort me, Sir Guy”, Violet declared, not wanting to be of any hindrance to anyone. “We’re in Nottingham by broad daylight, and anyway I’ll wait for my friends without wandering around the fair. I don’t see what kind of perils may threaten me, even if I’m alone.”

Guy stiffened.

“You don’t appreciate my company, do you, my lady?” he asked, concealing his disappointment under a casual tone.

“’Tis not that, but I’m sorry you have to waste your time with me. You have surely much more urgent business to do.”

“Actually, no, If that was the case, I wouldn’t have come with you”, Guy reassured her. “By the way, I would gladly have one of those tasty meat-pies. I don’t even remember the last time I had one.”

“If you put it that way, then I’ll happily have lunch with you”, Violet considered sincerely.

“Thank you, my lady”, Guy said, offering her his arm. Violet placed her hand on his wrist and they headed together for Martha’s stall.

They both had beef-pie, learning that both loved mushrooms, and a mug of low-alcohol beer, _light beer_ as it was commonly called.

“’Tis even better than I remembered it”, Guy commented after the second mouthful. With the first he had risked scorching his tongue, having shoved it into his mouth immediately after cutting the pie in half without waiting for it to cool down enough, and he had hastily downed a swig of beer under Violet’s amused gaze.

“In my opinion, Martha has added something to her original recipe”, she considered. “Juniper berries, I daresay.”

“You’ve got a very sharp sense of taste, Lady Violet”, Guy stated, raising an eyebrow in surprise. “I’d never be able to discern which spices have been used for a dish…”

“I’m an herbalist”, she revealed, “as my mother was, and before her, her mother. Knowing the herbs means not only knowing their looks and therapeutic virtues, but also their taste.”

“I’ve never considered this”, Guy admitted. “So, you’re a healer? Like Matilda?”

“More or less, but Matilda is surely more experienced than I am, because she has practised for a much longer time. I studied with my mother, but later, when I got married, I had no chance anymore to perform my art, because my husband opposed it, saying it wasn’t appropriate for a baroness. I started again when I returned home.”

Guy nodded.

“I hadn’t had the chance to offer you my condolences for the loss of your husband”, he said after a pause.

“Thank you”, she answered laconically.

“I don’t mean to sound crass”, the sheriff went on, again after a pause, “but I was wondering why you came back to Chetwood to your father.”

She cast him a glance, frowning, and he was afraid he had been too indiscreet.

“’Tis common knowledge I am a widow with no children”, Violet said, perplexed.

“Of course, I know it, but you could choose to stay at Roganton with your husband’s family where you would surely have a more comfortable life than at Chetwood, and more chances to find another husband.”

“I didn’t get along with my brother-in-law, and I have no intention to remarry”, Violet replied in a curt tone. Then, realising she had been a little too brisk, she softened her tone and went on. “Besides, I think that anyone prefers his ancestral home, the house where he or she was born and grown up, over any castle, as sumptuous as it might be. Don’t you agree?”

Guy recalled Gisborne Manor, burned down in the fire that had cost his parents’ life, a fire that he and his sister had barely escaped.

“Yes”, he answered in a low voice. “I too would prefer it.”

Violet bit her lip.

“Forgive me”, she murmured. “I didn’t mean to bring back unpleasant memories to you.”

Surprised, and moved by her sympathetic tone, Guy shook his head.

“’Tis not your fault, if my family house no longer exists. But coming back to your situation: if you don’t want to remarry, what will you do when your father will be no more? Of course I hope this will be as late as possible, but sooner or later, we all must leave this world.”

“This is true, unfortunately”, she admitted. “But I count on my brother Jeffrey to keep me with him. I am a good manager and I can therefore help him run Chetwood. Besides, when he will get married and be a father, I’ll help him and his wife to raise their children. And I’ll make myself useful as a healer.”

“You thought of everything”, Guy commented, sipping at his beer. “But did you consider the chance someone may ask your hand and your father or your brother would think it convenient to accept the proposal?”

“They won’t do it without my consent”, Violet answered. “Before getting me married to the Baron of Roganton, my father asked me if I agreed, and he would do it again, if someone should present himself. But I’ll do everything I can to prevent it”, she added with a vehemence that surprised Guy.

“And how do you think to do it? You’re still young, and noticeably beautiful, and your dowry is surely rich enough to rise interest in a suitor.”

Violet smiled rather fiercely.

“I’ll manage to seem unpleasant to the possible suitor.”

Suddenly, Guy laughed.

“Something tells me you’d undoubtedly succeed”, he declared. “Under your sweetness, you’re a strong-willed and determined woman and, if you want something, you obtain it, if ‘tis just possible. Am I right?”

“You are.”

“However, there’s a flaw in your reasoning.”

Violet looked at him, confused.

“A flaw?”

“Yes”, Guy affirmed, leaning toward her to look in her eyes. “How could you manage to seem unpleasant to a suitor who already knows you?”

She blinked, caught by surprise: actually, this was a chance she hadn’t pondered about.

“Well, that would be more difficult”, she began slowly, “but surely not impossible”, she chuckled for the jest she was about to deliver. “Why do you ask? Are you planning to propose yourself, by chance?”

Guy’s lips bent in a half-smile at her humorous tone.

“If it ever happen that I consider the idea of marrying someone, you’re the first I’d ask.”

It meant to be a jokingly retort, but as soon as it was out, the knight recognised it was the absolute truth because, except for Marian, he never had considered anyone as his potential wife. So why Violet, now? He looked at her closely as she laughed convinced that it was just a pun, and he realised the sound of her crystalline laughter charmed him.

“Do you think I’d have a hard time with you, trying to look hateful?” Violet enquired, prolonging the joke.

“Certainly”, Guy answered, sobering, “because I cannot forget the amiable girl who shared her apples with me too and not only with Locksley, and who didn’t make fun of me calling me _sourpuss_ or _funeral face_.”

Remembering the epithets Robin used to call him, Violet sobered in turn.

“We were just children”, she murmured ruefully. 

“You have not to apologise for Locksley”, Guy said. “’Tis something between me and him.”

“I hope one day you can talk things out”, Violet declared, cleaning her fingers on the napkin Martha had given her. “I’m not saying you have to become friends, but that at least you could behave civilly.”

“I don’t know if this will ever be possible”, Guy admitted, “but if he shows that he is willing, I could think about it.”

“’Tis not honourable to refuse a hand of reconciliation”, she chided him in a grave tone. Guy hesitated, then nodded, admitting she was right.

“Well, we’ll see”, he concluded, draining his mug. Violet was glad he hadn’t refused the idea _a priori_.

Suddenly she realised what time it was.

“Where on Earth is Rebelle… my cousin Isabelle?” she wondered, pensively.

“I was wondering why she isn’t with you”, Guy observed. “Usually she follows you like a shadow.”

“My father’s old warhorse is going to retire”, Violet explained, “and therefore Rebelle has been appointed to find him another one, an easier one, like a courser.” 

“Mayhap your cousin is having a hard time to find the ideal horse and that’s why she’s late. Do you want us to go find her?”

“Well, no… If there’s one woman who certainly can take care of herself, that’s Isabelle”, Violet smiled. “There’s no need, but I thank you, Sir Guy.”

He nodded, then he cast a glance to Martha’s stall.

“What about a slice of pie?” he asked.

“Of course! The plum tart looks very good to me.”

“Not the apple tart?” Guy asked, grinning. She laughed.

“I have them _ad nauseam_!”

Guy went to take the pies, selecting the apple tart for himself. As they ate, Robin and Marian returned.

“So, how did it go with Moore?” Violet asked them as they seated themselves at the table.

“He still had the two Friesians”, Robin answered. “He tried to ask me for the full price, but when I told him I knew how much he had paid for them, he accepted at once to grant me a reasonable price. And as he cooperated without a fuss, and in virtue of our long acquaintance, I also purchased a beautiful Friesian brood mare and a palfrey for Marian.”

“A gorgeous roan by the name of Redflower”, Marian smiled. “I can’t wait to ride him!”

She and Robin both had meat pies, savouring them with light beer and cider.

“I’d like to buy a harness for Redflower”, Marian said while eating.

“I spotted Baxter of Mansfield”, Guy said, referring to the best saddler in the county.

“Fine”, Robin commented. “I too want some new harnesses for the horses I purchased back.”

Guy cast him a suspicious glance.

“Aren’t you annoyed having to spend all that money for horses that were, after all, yours to begin with?” he enquired.

“Of course I’m annoyed”, Robin grumbled, darkening. “However, both Mallory and Moore, even if they aren’t renowned for their generosity, are nonetheless honest merchants and have purchased them in good faith. Anyway, law was on the baron’s side. As the sheriff, he had the power to confiscate my properties as I was an outlaw, even if a nobleman.”

Guy realised that this discourse implied that Robin, after all, respected the law, even if it was against him. Suddenly, he saw his antagonist under a different light, and this made him uncomfortable because it reversed a conviction he had for most of his life. He decided to put aside the matter, for the moment. He needed time to digest it, assuming he could do it for good.

As they finished eating, with Violet and Guy who had had another piece of pie for the sake of company, they left the table and Robin started toward the stall.

“Where are you going, Locksley?” the sheriff asked. Robin glared at him.

“To Martha, obviously. In case you didn’t know, I usually pay.”

Guy ignored his sarcasm.

“No use, I already told her to send the bill to the castle. My paymaster will settle it, and the beverages, too.”

For once, Robin was speechless. Glowering, he stared at Guy and said:

“Who are you, and what did you do to Gisborne? Since when do you buy me lunch?”

Marian and Violet exchanged a glance and both couldn’t hide a grin at Robin’s witticism.

The sheriff shrugged.

“I didn’t do it for your pretty eyes, Locksley, but for the two ladies.”

This time, the mentioned ladies couldn’t but burst into laughter, attracting the two men’s perplexed glances.

“You’re acting like two nasty children”, Marian explained giggling, slipping her hand under her husband’s arm. “Thank you, Sir Guy, we appreciate your gesture and we hope we can reciprocate it soon. Right, Robin?” she concluded, looking at her husband with an arched eyebrow. He opened his mouth to protest, then, glimpsing at his wife’s face, he thought better of it.

“Sure”, he muttered. 

“Thank you from my part too, Sir Guy”, Violet interjected at this point. “You’ve been very kind.”

Guy turned toward her and Marian observed how his dark expression instantly brightened, as if he was seeing sunshine.

“You’re very welcome, Lady Violet. ‘Twas my pleasure”, the black-clad knight replied. She nodded, accepting his words.

“Where did you say Baxter’s stall is located?” she then asked him.

“I didn’t say it”, Guy answered with his characteristic half-smile. “Come, I'll walk you there”, he added, offering her again his arm, as he had done earlier. Violet accepted it and set off with him, while Robin and Marian followed behind.

Marian had watched closely Guy’s and Violet’s behaviour. She said nothing, but she was increasingly convinced that Guy felt very attracted to Violet, and that she wasn’t indifferent, at all. If they realised it was, however, another story.

At Baxter’s, Marian and Robin bought saddles, stirrups, halters, headpieces, bridles, bits and everything else they needed, a good number of articles forming a final sum that made the master saddler happy. Robin had fun bargaining over each price with the cheerful ferocity he had learned in the Holy Land from the Saracens.

They were going to resume their stroll around the fair when among the crowd Guy noticed Drastan’s fair head. His deputy was accompanied by Rebelle, no less, and the maiden surprisingly had her arm locked with his. Making eye contact with his friend, he gestured to him, thus Violet turned and greeted her cousin:

“Oh, Rebelle, at last…I was beginning to worry you had lost yourself.”

“I’m sorry”, Rebelle replied, explaining her difficulties in finding a horse fitting for her uncle and talking about the fortunate deal with Drastan.

“And I even had my profit”, the sheriff’s right-hand man affirmed with a dazzling smile.

“But you didn’t want a penny more than you paid for it!” the maiden protested, amazed.

“I wasn’t speaking about that, Rebelle.”

Rebelle blushed all over her face. Drastan felt highly amused about her reaction, but he immediately saved her from further embarrassment:

“Ladies and gentlemen: I inform you that I asked Lady Isabelle for permission to woo her and she accepted. After Sir William’s consent, of course.”


	12. Chapter XII

Chapter XII

Nottingham, May 8th, 1194, afternoon

Violet _had_ thought that Rebelle and Drastan had a vaguely ruffled appearance, with glowing faces and sparkling eyes, and now she knew why. Her eyes widened and, for a long moment, she was speechless. The others were in similar conditions.

Anyway, she was the first to recover.

“This is definitely unexpected news”, she declared slowly, staring at her cousin with a gaze that said _what, didn’t you believe him obnoxious?_ Rebelle just shrugged, slightly embarrassed because she had never been known to be fickle. However, she realised that, in this case, she _could_ look capricious.

“You can say that, indeed”, Guy commented, staring at Drastan and arching an eyebrow. Never, in all the years of their acquaintance, had it occurred that his philandering friend formally committed himself into a courtship, even less a betrothal. To tell the truth, he had never seen him so taken by a girl like he was by Rebelle though. Guy wondered if this was the reason why he had recently and surprisingly hinted at a desire for marriage.

“Neither had I expected this, I admit”, Rebelle affirmed, “but when Drastan expressed himself, I realised that I too wanted it.”

Marian smiled, recalling the moment when Robin had asked her the same thing. She had been fifteen and he one and twenty. Good gracious, how was it possible that already eight years had passed...?

“Congratulations to you both, then”, she said. Rebelle smiled at her:

“Thank you, Marian.”

“Thank you, my lady”, Drastan said almost at the same moment, bowing slightly to the new Countess of Huntingdon. “I just hope ‘tis not too soon for congratulations, as after all, Sir William could deny me the permission to woo his niece.”

“And why should he do it?” Guy enquired. “Even if you’re a younger son, you’re a good match for any marriageable maiden.”

“But Rebelle is the sole heir to Rivendale”, Robin observed animatedly, crossing his arms over his chest, “and someone could suspect Greenmere of being interested only in her dowry.”

Guy glared at him, but Drastan just laughed at that.

“That’s precisely what I told Rebelle myself”, he said, “but I assure you, my lord, that this isn’t the case, and she knows it. I hope I will convince Sir William as well. In this regard, I intend to go to Chetwood this very evening and talk to him, therefore I’ll come with you”, he announced, glancing at Rebelle first and then at Violet, “and I hope that this time you won’t disappear from under my nose”, he concluded laughing. The two women laughed in turn, and Guy smiled briefly, amused. Neither Marian nor Robin guessed the reason of their hilariousness and gazed at them quizzically. Noticing their perplexity, Violet explained:

“At Easter, Sir Guy and Sir Drastan wanted to accompany us home, but we refused. As they were worried for our safety, they followed us nonetheless, but Rebelle noticed them and so we hid behind the trees, catching them by surprise when they passed by on the path without seeing us.”

“A valuable lesson”, Drastan declared. “I felt embarrassed for days afterwards, as I was caught like a greenhorn”, he shook his head. “I realised I should never underestimate Rebelle”, he concluded.

When they concluded their last purchase, Robin and Marian took their leave to go back to Locksley. At this point, Violet and Rebelle too were done and therefore they decided to return to Chetwood. Guy announced he wanted to come with them.

“In case Drastan needs moral support”, he justified himself, but the true reason – which he didn’t want to confess even to himself – was that he wanted to prolong the pleasure to be with Violet as long as possible.

Therefore, he and Drastan went to the castle to fetch their horses from the stables, while Violet and Rebelle headed for Master Riller to take Silvermist, William’s new horse, and then for the public stables where they had left their mounts. The four of them met by the city gates, then exited town heading for Chetwood.

Inevitably, two couples formed: ahead Drastan and Rebelle, the latter leading Silvermist, and behind, Violet and Guy.

“Do you think your father will allow the courtship?” Guy enquired, casting a quick glance to the woman riding next to him.

“Yes, I do”, Violet answered sincerely, “We cannot claim we know your friend well, but personally I’d have no objections, because I think he’s a decent man, despite his tendency to act like a braggart. And if Rebelle has accepted him, this means she likes him, otherwise she would have dismissed him without much ado, I can tell you...”

“I have no doubt on this”, Guy muttered, trying to hide his grin by pulling a face, but the amused gaze he caught in Violet’s dark eyes and her mirthful expression made him yield and he let go, bursting in a short laugh.

The sound charmed Violet: this was the first time she heard him laughing, laughing for good, not sneering. His face lighted up and his eyes sparkled, and for a moment she saw a very different man, a man full of spirit and warmth, introverted and almost ill-tempered, but undoubtedly good-hearted. She felt her throat tighten with emotion and was surprised by her reaction.

She chuckled in turn, hiding a slight uneasiness caused by the unexpected tenderness she was feeling about Guy, and resumed speaking. “Actually, I think my father will be happy that Rebelle found a suitor. I will tell you this quite bluntly: she’s not a woman who can be easily married off. Indeed, how many men would be willing to tolerate a wife who carries weapons and fights instead of engaging in sewing? Drastan is the first to step forward.”

“Really? But your cousin is very beautiful and she’s an heiress too: I cannot believe no-one has ever found her attractive enough, so far.”

“Even if there was someone, Rebelle would have forcefully discouraged him. And when I say _forcefully_ , I mean it literally”, Violet declared laughing, then she shook her head. “To tell you the truth, I thought she would discourage Sir Drastan too, should he speak out: she seemed to dislike him.”

“Mayhap her dislike disguised the attraction she was actually feeling”, Guy considered pensively. “I think that Lady Isabelle is a strong and very independent woman, and she was afraid that love would be a cage for her. Apparently, she realised that Drastan has no intention to imprison her.”

Violet recalled the times she and her cousin had talked about what they wished most from a man, that is, _respect_. If Rebelle had accepted Drastan’s advances, she had to believe that he respected her, to the point she had overcome her initial aversion. But Guy’s guess that it had rather been the fear of being caged was surely reasonable.

“He’d better keep the premises”, she commented therefore, “or otherwise, he risks losing her, because Rebelle will never allow anyone to subdue her.”

“A wife must obey her husband”, the sheriff reminded her, matter-of-factly. Violet frowned and replied:

“One must obey _the King_. Whatever the common practice might be, a wife is no subject of her husband.”

Guy pondered about this assertion.

“I agree with you”, he said at length. “However, if a wife refuses to obey her husband, don’t you think there would be chaos, in a family?”

“Nay, if instead of dropping orders, a husband _asks_ and, if a wife doesn’t agree, both spouses discuss the matter and find a solution that satisfies both. Exactly the way you would act with an equal co-operator. Mayhap ‘tis the woman suggesting the best solution, mayhap ‘tis the man, or mayhap a third person they both can consult. Cases are obviously innumerable.”

Again, Guy pondered.

“We men are not much used to listen to women”, he admitted slowly, “but ‘tis true, very often women can offer excellent solutions and ideas. It would be stupid to refuse them.”

Violet was pleased with the black-clad knight’s attitude and smiled at him. Guy reciprocated with an affirmative nod.

When they reached Chetwood, they all dismounted and left their horses in the care of Hugh and Emeric, who had come quickly as soon as they had heard them arriving. The head-groom admired Silvermist and complimented Rebelle for her choice, then he led the horse personally to a box, treating him with the gentleness required for a horse in a totally new environment among unknown people. 

Entering the mansion, Violet walked their guests to the hall, and meantime Rebelle went looking for her uncle.

William arrived soon, his niece in his wake. Having learned of the new horse, the elderly knight was very eager to go and see it, but his duty as a host was more important.

“Welcome back to Chetwood, my lords”, he greeted Guy and Drastan, who had risen as he entered. “Please, have a seat. Violet, did you offer them some refreshments?”

“Naturally”, his daughter reassured him. Guy sat again next to Violet as Rebelle pulled out a chair for her uncle and then sat in turn, next to Drastan.

“Excellent, I would really love to have a nice glass of cool cider”, William declared. At that moment, Mary came in, carrying a carafe and a few goblets which she placed on the table in front of the elderly knight. William personally poured the drinks for his guests, then they toasted to one another’s health and took a sip.

“What brings you here today?” William enquired, addressing the sheriff and his deputy. Drastan cleared his throat.

“I came to ask you something, Sir William”, he began, “and Guy came with me.”

Their host nodded both to acknowledge his statement and to encourage him to go on.

“Well, Sir William…” Drastan resumed his speech only to realise he had no clue how to present his request. He decided the best way was to be forthright. “I ask your permission to woo your niece, Lady Isabelle.”

William’s face showed clearly his amazement. He put down his goblet and looked at Rebelle, who held his gaze steadily, then he looked again at Drastan.

“Good heavens, son”, he murmured. “This is certainly an unexpected request. Rebelle, what do you say to this? Would you accept Sir Drastan as a suitor?”

“Yes, Uncle, I would”, she answered at once. “Very gladly.”

William arched an eyebrow, amused:

“ _Very_ gladly, you say? ‘Tis the first time I hear you speak words of appreciation toward a possible suitor… and I admit I’m happy about it, as so far I was convinced that you didn’t want to marry”, he sobered and turned again to the blond knight. “Sir Drastan, I’m sure you know Rebelle would bring the Rivendale estate as a dowry, but what would you offer her, should you two marry?”

“My deepest devotion”, Drastan declared, casting a tender glance to Rebelle which she reciprocated. “But of course this wouldn’t be enough to support a wife and a family”, he added, looking again at William. “I earned good money during the years since I have been knighted to the present day, serving the Count of Glenford previously and the Baron of Crampton later. I’ve never been a big spender and therefore I have a fair sum saved, which I’ll gladly invest into Rivendale. Now, as you know, I’m in the service of Sir Guy of Gisborne, who’s very generous. Therefore”, he concluded in a proud tone, “even if I cannot call myself rich, I hope you’ll believe my means are adequate.”

William considered Drastan’s words and the way he had expressed them.

“I like you, Drastan of Greenmere”, he said slowly, “and I feel I can trust your word. However, for my niece’s sake, I need to ascertain that what you’re stating is completely true. Sir Guy, can you confirm that your friend actually possesses the money he claims to have?”

Guy hadn’t anticipated to be called into the discussion, but he appreciated the elderly knight’s prudence and frankness.

“I confirm it”, he therefore answered. “His patrimony, consisting not only of money but of jewels and fine weapons too, is currently stored in the treasury at Nottingham Castle.”

“Very well then”, William decided, looking again at Drastan. “Because Lady Isabelle is favourable, I give you permission to woo her, but know that, should she change her mind for any reason whatsoever, I’ll revoke my permission. Have I made myself clear?”

Relief and joy overwhelmed Drastan.

“Absolutely clear, sir”, he assured him, casting a dazzling smile at Rebelle. “Thank you, Sir William.”

“Thank you, Uncle”, said Rebelle, once again as one, as she returned Drastan’s smile with an equally dazzling one. Seeing the exchange, William saw himself and his Adèle when he had presented himself to Queen Eleanor – who was her very young lady-in-waiting guardian, in the absence of her father – to ask for her consent to his courtship. This made him think about the practical side of the matter.

“Now that you have my blessing, children, you can see each other with no time limits”, he went on. “Sir Drastan, from now on you are free to come and go from my house whenever you like. I believe you’re a man of honour, and I have no doubts that you, Rebelle, are capable of defending your virtue yourself, but my duty as your guardian nonetheless forces me to ask you never to be alone except when in presence of a third person. Are we clear?”

The two involved persons nodded to show their acceptance and William called himself satisfied, even if there was no absolute certainty they would actually restrain themselves to know each other carnally. He knew well how love and passion drive two people to bed one another with or without the marriage bond, as it had happened to him and Adèle a few weeks before the wedding ceremony.

They had another toast, celebrating the occurrence: an accepted courtship usually introduced to an official betrothal, then marriage followed, thus a celebration was certainly in order.

They chatted until daylight began to fade, hinting to the approaching sunset. At this point, Guy and Drastan took their leave to ride back to Nottingham. Violet and Rebelle walked them to the door as Mary hastened to tell Emeric he had to bring the knights’ destriers to the front entrance. As they waited, Guy and Violet tactfully walked a little apart from the new couple to give them some privacy. When they saw them embracing with the apparent intention to kiss, both looked away. Guy caught a strange expression on Violet’s face that he believed to be sadness. He found it odd, because earlier she had looked truly very happy for her cousin.

A few minutes later, the stable boy arrived with the horses. Rebelle and Drastan walked hand in hand to the stallions, then the knight bent down to kiss her lightly on her lips before leaping deftly upon the saddle and taking the reins from Emeric’s hands. Guy turned to Violet and gave her a bow.

“Goodbye, Lady Violet. I hope to see you again soon.”

“You’re free to come to Chetwood with Drastan, when he comes visiting Rebelle”, she said impulsively. Realising the sentence could sound brazen, she hurriedly added “If you have the time to do so, of course…”

Guy arched an eyebrow, startled. At once, he realised Violet didn’t dislike him. It flashed through his mind that, perhaps, she reciprocated the attraction he felt for her. He discovered he hoped – no, he actually _yearned_ for this. His gaze dropped to Violet’s lips and he wished he could do what Drastan had just done with Rebelle: bending down and brushing those lips with his… The old Guy, the one at Vaisey’s service, wouldn’t hesitate to try, like he had done several times with Marian only to see her reject him – except for the one time she had kissed him to distract him from Robin’s nth escape. But the new Guy, the _true_ Guy, would never show such a lack of respect. Even if the temptation was indeed very strong…

“I will gladly do so, my lady”, he said in a low voice, before turning to get on his horse. Waving one last goodbye, the two men sent their horses into a trot and departed.

Guy noticed that Drastan sported a besotted smile. He grinned.

“Are you thinking of your lovely lady, my friend?” he asked.

“Exactly”, the fair knight answered, turning to look at him with sparkling eyes. “She’s got the sweetest lips one can dream of… and soft curves I can’t wait to caress again…” he uttered a sigh full of longing. “As I thought, she’s a sensual woman and I’m certain she likes very much to make love. She won’t surely remain passive, in bed…”

“I hope you won’t try to seduce her before the wedding”, Guy said, glowering. Hearing his disapproving tone, Drastan laughed:

“The other way round is more likely, that is _she_ could seduce _me_! I will try to be the gentleman, I swear, but I cannot promise you anything, should she offer herself to me.”

“She’s a gentlewoman”, Guy reminded him, not for the first time. “You should respect her…”

“But I do!” Drastan cried, glowering in turn. “I don’t want just to bed her, I want to _marry_ her, Guy. No woman before her had ever made me wish marriage. You know that. But I don’t see anything wrong if we make love before a priest has a chance to bless our wedding, if she too wants it. Anyway, I don’t think I’d be her first man, therefore…”

He paused, shrugging.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Guy enquired.

“Not really: the important thing is, I’ll be her last man, her _only_ man from this moment on. I already told her that, whatever happened in the past, both hers and mine, isn’t relevant, as long as henceforth we’ll be true to each other”, he cast a glance to his friend. “I don’t think that, once having her, I’ll be interested in any other woman, ever.”

Guy was perplexed. He knew no man who didn’t with to be his woman’s first. Then he thought of Violet. He wouldn’t be her first man, either, but that was different, he mused, because she was a widow. She had been properly wed, of course she couldn’t be a virgin. Then he recalled Drastan’s conviction, which he had reiterated several times, that women had the right to do as they pleased, exactly like men did, including giving themselves to whomever they wished. Thus there was no wonder if he accepted so easily that Rebelle had had other lovers, before him. And after all, Guy too believed that women had the same right as men have to live their lives as they pleased. Except that he had never thought about this peculiar aspect. He realised he had to re-evaluate his convictions a little, if he didn’t want to be a hypocrite.

“You’re truly smitten, old man”, he observed shaking his head. “Aren’t you afraid she has you wrapped around her little finger and could spin you around at her will?” he enquired.

Drastan’s cast Guy a shocked glance:

“I don’t even think about it, because love means trust, but if I were afraid of this, it would mean that I don’t trust her and, consequently, that I don’t truly love her. And this applies to her too. Or do you really think Rebelle would accept me as her suitor, if she wouldn’t trust me?”

“Exactly what Violet told me as we were heading for Chetwood”, Guy revealed. “I’m pleased to learn you return Rebelle’s trust.”

Drastan was silent for a while.

“I’m under the impression that you and Violet are going along well”, he observed at last. “I know you told me you have reasons you don’t want to get involved with a woman, to use your words, but ‘tis apparent by now that you’re interested in Violet. I see it in the way you look at her. Don’t you want to reconsider it and come forward with her? Are those reasons really so serious?”

Guy frowned, ready to reproach his friend, but then, a thought hit him like a blow to his head: were those reasons still valid? He had convinced himself he was unworthy of any woman, after what happened with Marian in the Holy Land, but now? She had returned, safe and sound, and he had resigned himself to leave her to Robin, as she was now his lawful wife, whether he was an outlaw or not, as their marriage had been celebrated in front of King Richard himself. He had endorsed the ceremony by providing the wedding ring. Therefore, maybe now there was no reason to deny himself the possibility of having a wife and a family… No, he told himself, he had wronged a woman once, and it could happen again. He was still and probably would be forever unworthy, because not even a thousand good deeds would be enough to cancel even a single one of the bad deeds he had done in the past, under Vaisey’s orders.

OOO

The following day, Violet was in her herbal workroom, concentrated on preparing a potion for the tickly cough that, since the former day, was tormenting Peter the potter, Mary’s husband. As it was pouring rain, Rebelle had cancelled the daily training session with Chetwood’s guards and had come to keep her cousin company.

At a certain point of their chatter, Violet tested the waters.

“What are your intentions with Drastan?” she enquired softly.

“What do you mean?” asked the warrior maiden, biting into an apple.

“I saw you two kissing, yestereve”, the older woman explained. “I had the feeling that, if you two were alone, you would’ve run straight to roll in the hay together.”

Rebelle blushed, recalling the unusual warmth between her legs that Drastan’s kisses had stirred. She considered pretending not to understand what Violet was referring to, but she concluded immediately that it was useless.

“I never felt anything like what I feel when Drastan kisses me”, she admitted in a soft voice. “’Tis like catching fire right… here”, she pointed discreetly at her pubic area. She felt unusually embarrassed, even if she had always been very explicit with her cousin until the present day. “They told me you feel like this when you want to make love with a man, but I never experienced it…”

_Neither did I_ , Violet thought bitterly. Her husband had always taken her with no regard to her wishes, mounting her as if she were a brood mare, nothing more and nothing less.

“Do you remember what I told you, some time ago, about your possible decision to give yourself to a man?” she asked quietly.

“Of course I remember that. You told me that there are ways to avoid getting pregnant.”

“Precisely. Therefore, should you decide to make love with Drastan, come to me and I’ll give you a suitable potion.”

Rebelle nodded, then she frowned, uncertain:

“Mayhap this is a stupid question, but must I come to you before or afterwards?”

“’Tis no stupid question”, Violet reassured her. “’Tis all the same, as I have remedies both for before and afterwards. But if ‘tis before, I need at least one day notice because the preparation takes quite a long time. If ‘tis afterwards instead, a couple of hours are enough.”

Rebelle took another bite from the apple.

“So far, the thought of making love just intrigued me, nothing more”, she considered thoughtfully. “But now, the thought of doing it with Drastan makes me horny.”

Violet cast her a vaguely scandalised glance:

“Horny? You speak like a loutish soldier!”

The maiden laughed:

“’Twas unavoidable for me learning the soldiers’ jargon, as I deal with them every day, what did you think? And anyway, I don’t know how else I could describe it.”

Violet shrugged. She didn’t know it either, because she never felt this type of desire, nor did she think she ever would.

“Alright, but better if you don’t use it publicly. Some would say it doesn’t suit a noblewoman.”

“Oh, you know I don’t care one bit about others’ opinion”, Rebelle snapped. “The only opinions I care for are yours and Uncle William’s, and now Drastan’s, and you all know me better than the language I use or don’t use. About others I don’t care in the least.”

“And you’re right”, Violet approved firmly. “ _Substance_ is crucial, not _appearance_ , but there are people who believe the other way round”, she shook her head in reproach. “Hypocrites”, she stated.

“I agree! Exactly like deeds are much more important than words.”

“Well said.”

Violet filtered the infusion of thyme and chamomile she had prepared, now lukewarm, funnelling it into a terracotta bottle. She corked the flagon and then she took a pot of honey flavoured with pine-tree buds from the shelf.

“I’m going to Peter”, she told her cousin. “I’ll be right back.”

“Fine. I’ll take the opportunity and go to the armoury to check the last delivery of arrows.”

They put on their rain capes, hooding their heads, and Violet tucked the hem of her skirt in her belt as not to stain it into the mud. In doing so, she uncovered the boots she was wearing. They went out into the yard and parted, each heading for her own destination.

In the potter’s workshop, Violet found Peter absorbed in his work. She was glad to ascertain that the oven for the burning of ceramics was ablaze, warming the room, because the cold and dampness of this rainy day risked to worsen his cough.

Seeing her coming in, the potter rose hastily.

“My lady…” he began, but a coughing fit cut him short abruptly.

“I brought you remedies for your cough”, Violet said, approaching him. Quickly, she gave him a spoonful of the balsamic honey. “Don’t swallow it all at once”, she taught him, “but little by little.”

Between one cough and the next, Peter did as bidden, then he inhaled deeply.

“Much better!” he cried, grateful.

“Pine-tree buds are excellent for coughs. Have one spoonful each time you have fits”, Violet instructed him, “and in between, have a cup of this infusion, possibly warming it before in a small pan. And mind you, keep warm and wrap yourself up carefully, if you must go outside.”

“Thank you so very much, Lady Violet… you’re an angel!” Peter cried, with another cough.

“No angel at all, I’m just trying to help people as best as I can”, she dismissed him modestly. “When you finish the infusion, let me know and I’ll prepare some more”, she waited for his confirming nod. “Fine, then, I go now. Have a good day.”

“Good day to you, Lady Violet”, the potter said. “And thank you again.”

The young woman left and returned to the mansion. She took off her cloak and went to dry herself by the fireplace in the hall. To pass the time, she began sewing a new petticoat so as to replace the old one, which was beginning to wear out. About half an hour later, Rebelle joined her.

“I made arrangements for new arrows”, the maiden announced, taking a seat next to her cousin. “There’s never enough… How did it go with Peter?”

“I gave him the remedies and the appropriate recommendations. If he follows my instructions, he’ll have no trouble in clearing up his cough. He thanked me profusely, he even called me an angel!” she concluded, shaking her head with a smile.

“Perhaps you’re no angel”, Rebelle commented, “but you’re an excellent healer. Don’t be too modest, ‘tis counterproductive, as you risk people underestimating you.”

“Sometimes ‘tis convenient being underestimated”, Violet observed with a wink. “As you do when you fight: isn’t it your preferential tactic?”

Rebelle nodded:

“You’re right, sometimes ‘tis convenient, but not always. Actually, sometimes you must do the opposite. It depends on circumstances.”

“Obviously”, Violet agreed. “The important thing is to understand when circumstances require one tactic or the other.”

Again, Rebelle nodded, then she changed subject:

“What’s for dinner?”

“Maud made roasted partridges with mushrooms and onions. And a honey bun with raisin.”

“Yummy, my mouth’s already watering!”

Violet laughed: that bun was Rebelle’s favourite. She preferred tarts instead, both with apples and with other types of fruit.

Later, Mary came to set the table. William, who had spent most of the day in the stable to get Silvermist acquainted with him, joined them and so they dined together.


	13. Chapter XIII

Chapter XIII

Chetwood Manor, May 15th, 1194

During the week following the horse fair, Drastan came to see Rebelle two times, with Guy accompanying him. On Whit Sunday, after high mass, the two knights escorted Rebelle, Violet and William back home, where they had the midday meal together.

Mary returned to the kitchen with the empty dishes after the first course.

“It looks to me that ‘tis not only Drastan wooing Lady Isabelle, but also Guy wooing Lady Violet”, she commented to Maud.

The cook almost dropped the ladle she was using.

“What?” she cried, “Don’t tell me Gisborne made a move on her!”

Mary shook her head.

“No”, she said. “Or at least I don’t think so, but seeing them sitting together, two on each side, with Sir William at the head of the table watching them contented as they converse with apparent pleasure among them, well, this gives the impression to see _two_ couples of sweethearts, not only one.”

Maud dipped the ladle back into the applesauce she was preparing to dress the pork roast, on her face an unreadable expression. 

“Everyone may say that Gisborne’s changed”, she grumbled. “I’m antsy nonetheless, when he’s around. I heard all sorts of things about his conduct while he was _wooing_ Lady Marian! What if he begins to behave in the same way with our dear young mistress…?”

“I believe he’s really changed, Maud… Not only has he lowered taxes, but I have heard no more complaints about vexation and abuse at the expense of peasants throughout Nottingham County. He even suspended the ban on Robin’s head! And ‘tis rumoured that he’ll do that for the other ones too: Little John, Much, Allan-A-Dale… Not to mention the rebuilding of Knighton Hall.”

“Meh! I’m still mistrustful”, the cook declared with a shrug. “And I hope Gisborne won’t get the idea to ask for Lady Violet’s hand!”

OOO

Two more weeks passed by. On that Saturday afternoon, Violet and Guy were escorting Rebelle and Drastan on a horse ride to the Mirwater Pond, where they would have a picnic.

Once they had reached the small lake of crystal-clear water, they dismounted and tethered the horses to some low branches. They took from the saddlebags what they had brought: Drastan, bread and cheese, Guy, a bottle of French red wine, Rebelle, a canteen of cider, Violet, a cake with apples, raisins and pine nuts.

They spread two blankets on the ground, side by side, and sat down to eat and drink. Violet was amazed hearing Guy pleasantly entertaining them with amusing anecdotes, but also quoting Occitan troubadours. She had always believed that the too serious lad of her childhood and the young man with the bad reputation of the latter period had no interest at all in such things. Instead, here he was, talking about adventures and misadventures of his service period with Drastan. He never smiled fully, openly, but his typical half-smile was undoubtedly amused, very different from the bitter sneer that, too often in the past, he had shown to the world.

“You two _did_ throw yourself into the Tyne for a doll??” Rebelle asked, dumbfounded, referring to one time when the two knights, in order to rescue their lords’ daughter’s puppet, had plunged into a river in flood. “You risked your lives for a _toy_?”

“Of course we did!” Drastan cried. “Our honour was at stake! After all, Lord Glenford had entrusted us with his daughter’s well-being, and if she would return to him weeping and sobbing, he would surely punish us very severely!”

“He couldn’t stand Emily’s tears”, Guy observed, “The lass had her father wrapped around her little finger… and she knew it!”

“Most men are wrapped around some woman’s finger and don’t even know it”, Drastan grinned.

“Really?” Violet murmured, sceptical, “I always believed the opposite: that men have complete control over women’s lives and do as they please with them…”

“Some definitely do it”, Drastan admitted, “but not me. I believe it unfair that anyone, just because he happens to have an appendage between his legs, would decide about the life of someone who hasn’t that same appendage....”

He paused, because suddenly he remembered that, even if Rebelle wouldn’t be aghast with this language, maybe Violet would. He looked at her apologetically, but she didn’t even blink, as she was no inexperienced woman and had sometimes heard even worse from Rebelle herself. However, seeing Drastan’s hesitation, she appreciated his attitude and nodded in acceptance of his mute apology.

Relieved, Drastan resumed his speech. “Women too are creatures of God. They have sentiments, intellect, will. So why not consider these endowments?” he cast an amused, but also amorous, glance at Rebelle. “There are indomitable women who can be won only by respect, not by force.”

“You have two of them here”, the warrior maiden affirmed, nodding in her cousin’s direction.

“You are capable of defending yourself physically”, Violet commented, “making them respect you even if they don’t want to. I have not this option.”

Her downhearted tone struck Guy. What had happened to her, as to make her speak this way? Someone from whom she expected respect and devotion had instead mistreated her? An unexplainable lust to put up a fight made him clench his fists. Anyone who dared to humiliate Violet had to deal with him!

Rebelle instead knew exactly what her cousin was talking about. As she couldn’t express herself freely because she had promised her discretion, she simply nodded.

“Any man taking advantage of his physical strength to impose himself over a woman has no honour”, Drastan declare firmly, glowering.

“I agree”, Guy said in a low voice.

As they finished their picnic, Drastan rose and offered Rebelle his hand.

“Shall we go for a walk?” he invited her. She accepted gladly, eager to be alone with her beloved. Guy started to rise in turn, but Violet held him back with a glance and a negative shake of her head. Taken aback, the sheriff sat again, and Rebelle and Drastan left, hand in hand.

“Stay close by”, he said anyway to his friend. Drastan nodded to show he had understood, then the couple disappeared among the trees. Guy turned to Violet.

“Shouldn’t we keep an eye on them?” he asked, his eyebrow arched.

“If my cousin decides to give herself to Drastan, we wouldn’t be able to stop her, believe me”, the young woman explained.

Guy mused for a moment, then he nodded.

“I can believe that”, he declared. “Rebelle is certainly a woman who knows what she wants and, if she wants Drastan, she’ll have him despite the custom. However, I don’t believe we should make things easier for them…”

Violet shrugged.

“I trust Rebelle and her common sense”, she affirmed. “She knows perfectly what the consequences could be, both physically and socially, as we have talked about this in detail. Rebelle can surely be impetuous and undocile, but she’s surely not stupid.”

Guy nodded.

“She’s certainly not”, he conceded. “And the same goes for you.”

Violet cast him a surprised gaze.

“Thank you, Sir Guy”, she replied in in a surprised tone. “It has not often happened that I’ve been complimented for my cleverness.”

It was Guy’s turn to look at her in surprise. “Really?”

“Really. Many compliments for my beauty, for my capabilities as a healer, or my skill as an administrator… but rarely for my intellect.”

“I suppose that’s because most men see in a woman only a lovely face and an attractive body”, Guy grumbled.

“Possibly”, Violet confirmed with the same bitterness as before. Again, Guy wondered what bad experience she had gone through. As it couldn’t have happened at Chetwood, where her father and brother adored her, by process of elimination the sheriff concluded that it had to have happened at Roganton. Could it be that her husband had harmed her? He knew about men beating and humiliating their wives for any trifle, instead of honouring and respecting them like the wedding vows demanded. Surely, if Vaisey had married, he would have behaved this way. Had Charles of Roganton belonged to this category of men? Again, his hands itched, longing to beat up who was responsible for Violet’s distress.

“Shall we too go for a walk?” he invited her, in the attempt to distract her from the sad thoughts that were apparently tormenting her.

Violet nodded. “Why not?”

Guy rose and helped her standing, then he offered her his arm, in a civil but formal way, so to make it clear that he wasn’t trying to get unsuitably intimate with her.

They didn’t go far from the pond, all the time keeping sight of it. About one hour later, they saw Drastan and Rebelle coming back and hurried to join them. Guy watched them closely but stealthily, but he didn’t notice anything that could make him think they hadn’t behaved in a less than proper way, for instance leaves in their hair or soil stains on their clothes in case they had had a roll in the grass. But Violet was right: if they wanted, they could do it despite any surveillance. Drastan had always been an incorrigible seducer, but Guy knew that this time, with Rebelle, it was different, because the blond knight was truly in love and wouldn’t do anything dishonourable. If seduction would occur, it would more probably derive from her than from him. Guy concealed a grin, as he was sure that, if Rebelle would want it, Drastan wouldn’t resist her not even for one minute.

When they arrived at Chetwood, they left their horses into Emeric’s and Hugh’s capable hands and entered into the house, as the two knights wanted to pay their regards to William before returning to Nottingham. They were exchanging amenities in the great hall when they heard outside the noise of hooves of numerous horses. Guy crossed the room with long strides to look out of the window, quickly followed by Rebelle.

“They’re men of the King”, the maiden announced, recognising the red standard with the two lions facing each other. (*)

“Jeffrey!” Violet cried joyfully. “He’s back!”

She ran to the entrance door and opened it wide. A few moments later, Guy joined her, while Rebelle and Drastan stayed with William. Violet counted half a dozen men.

One of them had dismounted already and was coming toward them. His rich surcoat indicated that he was a high ranking knight.

“Alexander, Earl of Falenwald”, he introduced himself with a bow. “I’m looking for Sir William of Chetwood.”

Violet examined the other riders, but she didn’t recognise her brother in any of them. A sudden concern seized her heart.

“I’m his daughter”, she said in a low voice. “Please, my lord, come in.”

She showed him the way to the hall, closely followed by Guy, who kept his eyes on Falenwald. The earl didn’t look threatening, but one could never know.

“Father, this is Alexander, Earl of Falenwald”, Violet said. “He’s looking for you.”

“Welcome, my lord”, said William, rising in sign of respect. The earl bowed.

“Thank you, Sir William. I bring a message from His Majesty the King, Richard”, he announced, taking a scroll from under his arm. “He recommended me to give it directly to you.”

The elderly knight took the scroll, watching it with the blank gaze of one who doesn’t understand what’s happening. He sat and broke the waxen seal with the royal insignia, and began to read. After a few moments, he paled horribly.

“Oh no… Jeffrey…” he moaned.

Violet gasped as her concern turned to despair.

“What happened to Jeffrey?” she cried, hoping that the news was about a wounding and not the worst hypothesis.

“Dead… in battle…” William whispered, destroying her hopes. The scroll slipped from his weakened fingers and fell on the table. Distraught, Rebelle ran to embrace her uncle as Violet grabbed the parchment and began to read:

_Richard, by the grace of God, King of England, Duke of Normandy, Earl of Maine, Anjou and Turenne, Duke of Aquitaine, Earl of Poitiers; to William, Knight of Chetwood: it is with great sorrow that We inform you that your son Jeffrey perished yesterday, last day of April of the year of Our Lord 1194, fearlessly fighting against the Saracen enemy. Tomorrow, Bishop Alfred will celebrate a solemn funeral service and Sir Jeffrey will be buried with full military honours. Expressing Our deepest condolences, Sir William, We assure you that your son has behaved always valiantly and honourably, both on the battlefield and in life. May this knowledge, along with the fact he has died fighting for the Holy Cross, ease your pain, even if just a little. As a sign of gratitude for the services your son Jeffrey rendered, We decided that your properties and your titles, both of Chetwood and of Nottingham, will not be acquired by the Crown if you will not have another male heir, but that they will pass through your daughter to her sons, in the way she herself will believe the most appropriate. In this case, she will have to find a husband willing to acquire your names and titles, relinquishing his own. Furthermore, We give you permission to pass down the above mentioned names and titles to your son-in-law even_ ante mortem _, if you wish to do so._

_Ricardus Rex Angleterrae_

Violet dropped the scroll on the table, her gaze blank.

Jeffrey, her beloved elder brother, was no more, dead in a far land. What was the glory he covered himself in, the King’s gratitude, the assurance that their lands wouldn’t be lost, compared to the sorrow of knowing she would see him never again, never again hug him…?

Rebelle’s sobs roused her. She turned her head to her cousin and father, who were embracing, weeping, the former openly, the latter more composedly but nonetheless with equal grief.

She rose and crossed over to embrace them both, as Guy and Drastan exchanged a glance full of concern and sorrow. Drastan, unable to bear the sight of Rebelle in such a great anguish, walked up next to her and placed his hand on hers, squeezing it to make her feel his support. Guy wished he could do this with Violet, but he had no right to be so intimate with her, thus he just approached her.

“My condolences, Lady Violet”, he said softly. “I am very sorry for your loss.”

Violet nodded, unable to have her voice go past the lump sticking in her throat to respond verbally. Etiquette required for Guy – neither relative nor intimate family friend – to take his leave to allow them to mourn in private the death of their beloved one, but Drastan instead, as Rebelle’s suitor, had the right and the duty to stay, and Guy couldn’t of course walk out on him. Therefore, even if he was feeling uncomfortable, he sat next to Violet, keeping respectfully silent.

Violet felt a wave of gratitude because Guy wasn’t leaving, abandoning her. She understood he couldn’t give her signs of loving support as Drastan was doing with Rebelle, but his presence was nevertheless comforting.

She gathered her strength and rose, turning to Alexander of Falenwald. Before she could speak, the earl gave her a low bow.

“I am terribly sorry to be the bearer of such dreadful news, my lady.” he declared. “Please accept my deepest condolences.”

“Thank you, Lord Falenwald. Please, accept our hospitality and go to our kitchen with your men to have some refreshment…”

“I thank you for your offer, my lady”, Falenwald interrupted her kindly, admiring her fortitude and her self-control. “I think we have already been enough of an inconvenience. With your permission, I bid you farewell. No need to walk me to the door, I remember the way out.”

Violet nodded and the earl bowed again, taking his leave, then he turned and left the hall.

Violet sat again and took her father’s hand. William pulled her into an embrace and she began to weep. Little by little, Rebelle’s sobs calmed down and the girl left her uncle to turn to Drastan, who hugged her tenderly, caressing her hair. Again, Guy wished he could do this with Violet and sighed mentally out of frustration. He was having a hard time accepting the fact he couldn’t comfort her the way Drastan was comforting her cousin.

Finally, after a rather long time, William moved Violet gently away and addressed his two guests, who had kept silent, respecting their grief.

“Sir Guy, Sir Drastan, I am very sorry you had to witness this scene”, he said in a low voice. “Please, feel free to go.”

“I won’t leave Rebelle alone with her sorrow”, Drastan claimed firmly. “Nor you who are like a father to her, or Lady Violet who’s like a sister. Guy, could you excuse me from my duties for a couple of days?”

“Of course, my friend”, Guy accepted with no hesitation. He too wished he could stay, but he knew he couldn’t. “If there’s something I can do for you, Sir William… or for you, Lady Violet and Lady Isabelle… please let me know. Anything”, he added with emphasis as he rose.

“Thank you, Sir Guy”, Violet answered, rising in turn, but Guy signalled her to sit again.

“I know the way by now. No need to bother walking me to the door”, he reassured her, then he turned to Drastan. “I await you in Nottingham on Tuesday.”

Drastan nodded, grateful, still holding Rebelle tightly against his chest. With a bow, Guy took his leave.

As he departed, a thought struck him: why had King Richard talked about properties and titles of Chetwood and _of Nottingham_? He wasn’t aware about William having other titles than Knight of Chetwood. Not even Rivendale belonged to him, as that estate too was waiting for an heir through Rebelle who, like Violet, was under the Crown’s protection by virtue of the affection Queen Eleanor had had for Adèle, a protection that extended to her entire family. This hint to a title regarding Nottingham made Guy very perplexed, but having no clue on how to solve the mystery, he decided to forget about it, for the moment. He headed for the stables where he found his horse, Darkshadow. He was still saddled, ready to take his rider home, but they had given him both fodder and water.

“Sir Drastan will stay for a couple of days”, Guy announced to Hugh. “You can unsaddle and groom Mjolnir. I, however, will go back to Nottingham, but I’ll return tomorrow.”

The chief-groom nodded to show he had grasped the information. Guy mounted and, nudging Darkshadow to a trot, he took the road to Nottingham.

OOO

The following day, as soon as they learned the news Robin and Marian headed for Chetwood to express their condolences to the family. They were immediately shown to the grand hall and Violet joined them a few minutes later.

“I’m very sorry, Violet”, Robin murmured, hugging her. She leaned into her friend, tears welling up in her eyes.

“Thank you”, she whispered in a broken voice.

Then it was Marian’s turn to embrace her, and finally everyone took a seat.

“Where’s Sir William?” Marian asked, sincerely concerned about the elderly knight.

“He’s in his bedchamber”, Violet answered. “As you can imagine, he’s very distraught. I sent Jack to tell him you’re here, but I don’t know if he’ll feel like coming downstairs.”

“I understand completely”, the Countess of Huntingdon nodded. “And Rebelle?”

“Drastan took her out for a stroll, to take her mind a little off her mourning”, Violet answered. “Yesterday when the news came, he and Guy were here, and Drastan insisted on staying a couple of days to keep Rebelle company.”

“Very considerate of him”, Robin commented in a vaguely surprised tone. “Perhaps Greenmere isn’t that bad, after all.”

“If Rebelle hadn’t been sure he’s a good man, she’d have kicked him in the shins instead of accepting his courtship!” Marian observed vivaciously. Robin rose his hands in a yielding gesture because, knowing the warrior maiden’s temper, he couldn’t but agree with his wife.

Mary entered, bringing drinks as Violet had asked her previously. She placed the tray with a carafe and three goblets on the table, curtseyed and retired without a word. For her too, as well as for everyone at Chetwood, the feral news of their young master’s death had been a terrible blow.

Violet – never forgetting her duty as a hostess – poured the cider and handed the goblets to her guests.

“To Jeffrey”, Robin said, raising his chalice. He always had a deep respect for Violet’s elder brother, both as a person and as a knight, and his death saddened him greatly.

They drank to the deceased.

“I’m even sorrier for your father”, Robin then said. “He didn’t want the title of Baron of Nottingham, but now he is forced to take it.”

Robin and Marian were among the few who knew about the kinship between William and Vaisey.

Violet recalled the king’s orders about the inheritance and her lips thinned in a bitter grimace.

“Unless I remarry”, she revealed in a flat tone. “In this case, my father would be allowed to pass the title on to my new husband, as the king himself decreed when he informed us about my brother’s death.”

The Earl of Huntingdon nodded pensively.

“’Tis not an unusual procedure”, he said. “Richard himself is Duke of Aquitaine because of maternal inheritance.”

The thought of having to remarry – and her duty was clear – terrified Violet, but she couldn’t disclose it to her friends, because this meant she had to explain the reason and she wasn’t willing to do it. Only Rebelle knew and Violet wanted it to stay that way.

“We’ll see”, she therefore said laconically.

Marian grasped Violet’s hand and squeezed it gently.

“Whatever you may need – you, Rebelle or Sir William”, she said in a low voice, “you can count on me and Robin.”

Guy too had offered as much, Violet reflected, realising only at that moment how this was strange. No, she thought, it would have been strange when Guy was in Vaisey’s service, but now, it didn’t seem so bizarre.

“Thank you, my friends”, she whispered.

At that moment, William of Chetwood entered the room. They had told him that the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon had come visiting, so he had gathered his courage and had come downstairs.

Seeing him, Robin rose and crossed over to him.

“Sir William”, he said. “Marian and I came to give you our deepest condolences. We are immensely sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, Lord Locksley”, the elderly knight answered. Marian came and hugged him, acting less formally than her husband. William returned her embrace.

They sat and began recalling their memories of Jeffrey. After some time, Rebelle and Drastan joined them and Mary fetched more cider and three extra goblets.

They went on talking quietly until late in the afternoon. Sharing memories of the dear departed was a great comfort for those who had known him, and allowed Drastan to learn something about Rebelle’s beloved cousin whom, unfortunately, he would never meet.

OOO

Not having a body to bury, there was no solemn funeral ceremony for Jeffrey of Chetwood, though one was held for him in the Holy Land, nor a funeral banquet as the custom would require. The day after the arrival of the tragic news, as a sign of mourning, the front windows of Chetwood Manor were draped with dark grey cloths. William ordered a mass in intercession of his son, which the Bishop of Nottingham officiated personally.

When the month of strict mourning was over, the elderly Knight of Chetwood summoned his daughter.

“Like it or not, I’m the Baron of Nottingham”, he considered gravely. “I wanted to pass this burden on Jeffrey, but this is no longer possible. Violet, you have to remarry and provide an heir to Nottingham, and your husband will be baron in my place.”

Violet had been aware that this moment would come. She abhorred the idea of a man in her bed and in her body, therefore she had looked for a way out.

“I don’t want to remarry, Father”, she declared in a low voice. “Can’t you pass the title on Rebelle’s future son? After all, she’s your sister-daughter and she doesn’t mind getting married, and besides, she already has a suitor.”

William had considered this, knowing his daughter’s reluctance to get another husband.

“I thought about it”, he answered. “However. ‘tis not possible. King Richard has been very clear: the title will pass on through you and nobody else. If you won’t remarry and have a son, we’ll lose both Chetwood and Nottingham.”

“I don’t care one bit about Nottingham”, the young woman growled.

“Neither do I, but if you don’t secure a descent to our family, when I’ll die you’ll lose everything.”

“I’ll go and stay at Rivendale with Rebelle and Drastan”, Violet replied firmly. Her father looked deeply hurt and she felt her heart shrink.

“Chetwood belongs to our family since the time of Alfred the Great”, William reminded her, “Do you really want us to lose it only because you don’t wish getting another husband?”

Violet gritted her teeth. She would never, ever tell her father what kind of hell her husband had made her go through in the bedchamber, she was too embarrassed.

“And there’s one more thing to take into account”, William went on, unaware of his daughter’s distress. “What would happen to our peasants if the new owner of Chetwood should prove to be an evil man like Vaisey?”

This, in her misery about her own fate, Violet had not considered. She had been taught that the first duty of every noble is protecting his or her peasants and look after their well-being. She felt ashamed because she had forgotten this.

“I understand what my duty is, Father”, she murmured. She straightened her back proudly, but she couldn’t help tears of anger and frustration springing to her eyes. “And I will do it… but you will allow me to choose by myself the man that will make me breed.”

“Good heavens, daughter, you’re not a mare that has to mate!” William cried, dismayed by her language.

“But that’s the way I feel!” Violet replied bitterly. “My wishes don’t mean anything…”

“My daughter… no!” William sighed, hugging her. “Believe me, if there was another way… if I would be still young enough to have a new wife and hope for a new son… But after your mother’s passing, I felt no desire, no stimulus… My virility is dead and I’m incapable to consummate the conjugal act”, he confessed in a very low whisper, mortified. “Do you understand now why only you can make our line go on?”

Violet was upset by his confession. To a man of his pride, it had surely costed a high price.

“Oh Father… I’m so sorry…” she murmured, lowering her eyes to relieve the embarrassment the knight was certainly feeling. “This responsibility scares me, I don’t deny it, and I must find a way to bear this burden. But I need some time…”

“I understand”, William reassured her, “And about your request to choose your new husband, I accept, as long as he’s a man worthy of your station.”

Violet glowered and clenched her fists.

“No, Father, I don’t want restrictions of any kind”, she said gritting her teeth. “If I’ll choose a miller’s son or the Master of the Guild of Fishmongers, you’ll have to be satisfied with it.”

Her claim stunned William.

“But, Violet, you’re a noblewoman…”

“I wouldn’t surely be the first one who marries a peasant”, she snapped. “You’re asking very much of me. I said I’ll do it, but I want to be completely free in my choice. Otherwise, I’ll become a nun and Chetwood will go to the Church! As for Nottingham, the King will appoint a new baron.”

William realised her daughter had been pushed to the limit and he couldn’t ask for more.

“As you wish”, he therefore said softly. “But try to choose wisely.”

Violet nodded curtly. She wouldn’t certainly be fooled again by kind manners and charming appearance, as it had been with Charles. This time, she would choose a man willing to respect her, as a person even before as a woman, both in bed and out of it. Otherwise, she preferred locking herself in a nunnery rather than lying again with a man, even at the cost of letting her father down.

OOO

“Why don’t you marry Guy?”

Violet’s eyes widened at this suggestion.

“Are you kidding me??” she cried, unsettled.

They were in Rebelle’s chamber, where Violet had reported to her cousin about the talk with her father. In the beginning, Rebelle had been furious because of what Violet was forced to do, but then she had calmed down and pondered the matter for a few minutes before asking that question, which sounded absurd in her cousin’s ears.

“Not at all”, Rebelle replied. “Think about it! You’ve known Guy since you were a child. And ‘tis now clear he is not an evil man. He never was. The _real_ evil man, Vaisey, has only misled him for some time but now he’s back to his true self and working hard to amend the wrongs he had to commit at that bag of rotting excrements’ orders. Besides, from his attitude ‘tis clear he has much respect for you, and mayhap something more”, Violet opened her mouth to protest, but Rebelle shook firmly her head. “No, let me finish: didn’t you say that the most important thing for you to like a man, is that he truly respects you? Or would you have rather a stranger, who could give you one impression and then turn out to be completely different, exactly as it happened with Roganton?”

Violet blushed, feeling as if caught red-handed.

“This is a low blow”, she growled.

“Of course it is, but this way ‘twill be clearer to you the reason why I suggested Guy’s name”, Rebelle replied without a blink. “And consider this too: Drastan wouldn’t be his friend, should Guy be a wicked man. Drastan met him before Guy fell into Vaisey’s clutches and knows, has always known, how Guy truly is: a good man who has temporarily gone down the wrong path. You yourself said that, as a child, you thought he was a good lad.”

“Sure, but from here to marrying him, ‘tis a pretty big leap”, Violet objected.

“People marry with far fewer certainties”, Rebelle pointed out. “Many a maiden meets her husband only at their wedding day, and perhaps she didn’t even see a portrait of his. And am I wrong, or had you not even seen Roganton many times, before marrying him…?”

“Stop mentioning his name, please”, Violet said in a low voice, both annoyed and saddened. “I don’t like to remember him and his behaviour…”

“You’re right, sorry”, Rebelle murmured regretfully, grabbing her cousin’s hand. “However, I want to emphasise the advantages you would have in marrying Guy instead of a stranger.”

“I understand them well, believe me. But the fact remains that I abhor the idea of… of…”

“Consummating the conjugal act?”

“Precisely”, Violet sighed, lowering her head. “But if I must give a son to our family, I’m forced to lie with him…”

“I’m sure that it will be very different, with Guy”, Rebelle reassured her. “The fame of his behaviour between the sheets is very good, according to the rumours Meg heard from the castle’s servant girls… And Annie defended him fiercely, with Robin and his gang, claiming that, under his appearance, he was a good and kind man. In view of the most recent facts, ‘tis apparent she was right, don’t you agree?”

Slowly, Violet nodded.

“Very well, I’ll think about it”, she said at length. “But even if I would make up my mind, we still have to see if he’s willing to marry me…”

“I should hope so! You’re the heiress to a flourishing estate and to an important peerage, whoever weds you will obtain both. And besides, you’re a brilliant manager, an excellent healer and, on top of that, you’re a beautiful and intelligent woman. Anyone would be willing to wed you, believe me!”

“I don’t want _anyone_ ”, Violet grumbled.

“And you’re right. I too didn’t’ want _anyone_ , but someone willing to accept me as I am without wanting to change me. I doubted whether such a man existed, but then I met Drastan…”

Her dreamy tone made Violet’s ears perk up.

“How are things between you two?” she enquired. Seeing her cousin blushing conspicuously, she became alarmed. “Don’t tell me you made love with him without asking me previously...”

“No, no!” Rebelle interrupted her. “But yesterday we came close to it. I stopped only because I recalled the promise to talk to you before. When I stiffened, Drastan didn’t push it, as the honourable man he is. He didn’t even ask me the reason of my sudden reticence, but he said that, as we are now over the strict mourning period, next time he comes to Chetwood he’ll formally ask Uncle William for my hand. So we’ll be officially betrothed.”

“I’m happy for you”, said Violet, smiling momentarily forgetful of her own troubles. “At any rate, I’m going now to prepare a potion that will protect you from pregnancy until you’re formally wed. ‘Tis paramount for you to pay great attention to doses and timing when taking the medicine…”

(*) a few years later, the lions became three, placed one on top of the other, in the today’s best-known banner.


	14. Chapter XIV

Chapter XIV

Chetwood, June 30th, 1194

It was afternoon and Rebelle was in the armoury when the noise of hooves in the courtyard drew her to the barred window. As soon as she caught sight of Drastan’s brawny shape, she quickly turned to Harry, her deputy.

“You can finish checking the crossbows”, she told him, “and make sure of the number of bolts available. If there’s need, we’ll place an order to the armourer of Calverton… I don’t recall his name.”

“Fenton”, Harry offered. “But why don’t we apply to George, in Nottingham? He’s much nearer, and he’s even cheaper.”

“I like Fenton’s craft much better”, Rebelle cut short the topic, eager to join Drastan. “And anyway, I gladly pay more for a better product.”

“About this you’re perfectly right, my lady”, Harry admitted, nodding.

Two minutes later, Rebelle personally opened the door for Drastan who, after entrusting Mjolnir to Emeric, was ascending the steps to the entrance.

“Welcome”, she said beaming. He returned her smile and, as soon as he joined her on the threshold, he pulled her into his embrace.

“Thank you, my love”, he said in a low voice, before lowering his head in order to place a quick kiss on her lips, very chaste as he didn’t know who could be watching them. “Is your uncle at home?”

“Sure”, Rebelle answered, withdrawing from his arms. She didn’t ask him the reason of his visit, as she already knew it. “Come.”

Her heart pounded as she led Drastan to the small parlour where William had retired to rest after a nice ride on Silvermist, his new courser. She knocked on the door and, hearing the elderly knight’s invitation, she entered.

“Uncle? Drastan is here, he wants to talk to you”, she said. William raised his gaze from the book he was reading and smiled at the younger man.

“Of course! Please, come and have a seat, Sir Drastan”, he invited him with a nod.

Drastan turned toward Rebelle and, seeing how anxious she was, he smiled at her reassuringly.

“See you later”, he said softly, “As soon as I’m done speaking with your uncle.”

“You’ll find me in Violet’s workroom”, the maiden informed him, taking her leave. She needed to keep her mind off the upcoming talk between the two men, and there was nothing better than chatting freely with her cousin because, after pronouncing the promise of marriage, she had no intention to wait any longer to be fully with Drastan.

Drastan took his seat on the padded chair William was showing him. Though he was sure he would receive a positive answer – there was no reason to think otherwise – he felt on pins and needles. The older man noticed it.

“Well, my dear lad”, he said kindly, trying to make him feel comfortable. “Speak freely.”

Drastan cleared his throat before formulating his request.

“Sir William, I’m here to formally ask you the hand of your niece Lady Isabelle of Rivendale. I love her sincerely, and I can offer her a decent, if not a good life…”

William raised his hand and Drastan paused.

“I have no objections”, William declared. “As you know, I was almost resigned to the idea I would never be able to find her a husband, therefore I’m particularly happy that you offered. What really matters is that she has accepted you, otherwise I could do nothing to make her change her mind, nor would I have wanted to force her, because too many young women are forced to wed someone they don’t want and then live an unhappy life. I didn’t force Violet, and I wouldn’t do it with Rebelle. Thus, Sir Drastan, I give you my blessing”, he concluded smiling.

Despite everything, Drastan couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“I’ll go to tell your niece the good news at once”, he said, rising. “With your permission…”

“Of course. Only one thing, Sir Drastan: given our recent loss, I ask you to accept a simple ceremony, in the presence of just family.”

“I was going to suggest it myself, Sir William”, the young man assured him. “A toast among us, the gift of the ring and nothing more.”

“I think this would be very proper”, the elderly knight approved, satisfied of his future _son-in-law_ ’s thoughtfulness. “Now go and fetch your betrothed. We’ll talk another day about the details of the wedding.”

A few minutes later, Drastan was knocking at the door of Violet’s workroom. A moment later, a Rebelle with an air full of joyful expectation opened the door for him.

“Sir William gives us his blessing”, he said, beaming at her.

“Hurray!” the maiden cried, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him fervently. Drastan held her tight and returned her kiss.

In front of the small hearth where a medicinal decoction was simmering, Violet smiled indulgently and pretended not to see the affectionate effusions of the two betrothed, in order to give them some privacy.

After another passionate kiss, Rebelle withdrew and took Drastan’s hand, leading him to her cousin.

“We’re officially betrothed”, she announced. Violet nodded.

“Congratulations to both of you”, she said warmly.

“Thank you, Lady Violet”, Drastan answered.

“I think we can drop formalities, now”, Violet observed. “We’re going to be in-laws, so what about calling us just by name?”

“Very gladly, Violet”, the blond knight accepted promptly, happy about it.

“Let’s have a toast”, Rebelle suggested, eager to celebrate somehow this moment.

“Excellent idea”, Violet approved. “Give me a few minutes, as the arnica for Hugh’s rheumatisms is almost ready, and I must drizzle the decoction into olive oil when ‘tis still hot, to have it blend well into it. Meanwhile, Rebelle, you could have Mary bring some cider to my father’s parlour. I’ll join you there.”

The newly betrothed nodded and left her to the making of the ointment, a remedy that had already much relieved the chief-groom of Chetwood from his knee pain.

Fifteen minutes later, Violet entered William’s parlour, where she found her father, Rebelle and Drastan waiting for her. On the small table, there was a glazed ceramic carafe with four silver goblets.

“Oh, here you are”, her father welcomed her with a smile. “I told Rebelle to send for the cider we keep for special occasions.”

“Well done”, Violet approved, sitting next to William. This dry cider fermented in small barrels and became sparkling. It was Rebelle’s favourite.

The latter grasped the jug and poured the golden liquid, then she handed the goblets to the others.

“I remember as if it were yesterday the day when Adèle and I exchanged our wedding promise”, said William in a clearly moved tone, “The emotion and joy filling up our hearts and minds made us feel as if in paradise. So I can well imagine your state of mind, dear Isabelle and Drastan! Because of our very young age, they imposed us to wait one year before marrying, and we had a very hard time. Therefore, despite our recent loss, I exhort you to celebrate your wedding as soon as possible.” A lump of emotion tightened his throat, preventing him for a moment to go on. He gulped it down before continuing in a lower voice. “Let’s drink to your happiness, health and prosperity”, he concluded, raising his goblet toward the engaged couple.

“Thank you, Uncle”, Rebelle murmured, feeling her eyes getting wet at the thought of Jeffrey, who wouldn’t be able to witness her joy. She took a sip.

Drastan put down his goblet and rummaged into the pouch dangling from his belt, digging out a small bag of dark green velvet. He opened it and poured its content on the palm of his hand: two rings, both made of two tiny silver bands that, on the upper side, intertwined forming a knot symbolising the bond that would join them. He took the smaller one and presented it to Rebelle.

“Coming to Nottingham”, he began. “I never expected I would meet the one woman who could made me wish to marry. However, the day I first met you, I realised at once I had made a fateful encounter. I realised as well that, if I was to hope to win your heart, I had to win previously your respect and trust. I wasn’t certain at all I could succeed, but this didn’t prevent me from trying. And now I almost cannot believe my luck”, he concluded with a smile expressing his incredulity as well as his happiness.

Rebelle, deeply touched by his humility, held out her left hand and the young man slipped the ring onto her finger. It fitted her perfectly because, a few days earlier, Drastan had asked of her a ring to take to Drewmore’s, the best jeweller of Nottingham, so he could copy its exact measure.

It was the maiden’s turn. She took the larger ring and presented it to her betrothed.

“On the contrary”, she began with an earnest expression, “the first time I met you, I thought you were insufferable, arrogant and a braggart”, she smiled. “Then, coming to know you, I realised I had been wrong, that you are an honourable, honest man, even if a little bit gaudy. And that you liked me exactly the way I am, and that you didn’t want to change me. That’s when I fell in love with you”, she concluded, blushing slightly. She took the hand he was holding out and slipped the ring onto his finger. Smiling, Drastan bent down and gave her the ritual kiss, but with the warmth of love.

Violet was looking at them with a smile, though tinged with sadness. She was happy for her cousin, but at the same time she was a little ashamed, because she had to admit she was also slightly envious. Rebelle was going to marry the man she loved, while she, Violet, after a first marriage without love, was forced to contract a second one equally without love out of family and dynastic reasons. She quickly took another sip of the sparkling dry cider, hoping alcohol would cheer her up at least a little.

OOO

A couple of hours later, Drastan took his leave. Rebelle walked him to the stables, where she dismissed Emeric telling him they would saddle Mjolnir by themselves.

“Finally we’re alone”, the blond knight whispered, pulling Rebelle into his arms. He lowered his head and kissed her the way he had wanted to do for hours, with all the love and desire he was feeling for her. The maiden parted her lips to his sensual invasion, returning his kiss with equal ardour. Crushing her body to his, she felt the hardness of his virility against her belly and, like it had already happened a number of times previously, as a reaction she felt a great heat in her most private spot. Feeling more brazen than ever, and aware of the binding promise they had exchanged, Rebelle rubbed herself against him. Drastan groaned and grasped her hips, trying to keep her still. But it was so sweet to let go, he thought, and anyway she was now his betrothed, they had a solemn commitment to each other and only marriage would be stronger than that. Thus, he shoved his hands further back, clutching her firm rear curves, and pressed his pelvis firmly against hers.

It was Rebelle’s turn to groan. She pressed her body even harder against Drastan’s, yearning for something more. She couldn’t wait, she _didn’t want_ to wait for their wedding night to become one flesh with her husband, she thought, stunned. The Church might blame what she was feeling in Drastan’s arms, calling it lust, a cardinal sin. But she would feel the same way even if he would be already officially her husband, and the Church couldn’t blame it. So what difference could it ultimately make…?

Drastan withdrew slightly from her lips.

“Rebelle… My love, if we keep going on like this, there’s a pretty good chance that I fling you on the hay and take you in no time…”

“I wouldn’t mind at all”, she gasped, her body in turmoil and her mind clouded.

This statement made the fair knight shiver. For a long moment, he struggled hard against himself and his own burning desire to do exactly what he had just suggested, but the thought that he didn’t want to take Rebelle this way, like a rough soldier with a prostitute, because she deserved time and dedication, was decisive in stopping him. There would be time later on for mad embraces. Besides, they had to consider, too, that they could be caught red-handed anytime.

Slowly, he withdrew from Rebelle, holding her by the shoulders. She stared at him, her eyes clouded with desire. At first, she creased her brow, clearly irritated, then her good sense got the upper hand, dispersing the fog dimming her brain. She sighed, but she had made up her mind by now.

“I don’t want to wait any longer, Drastan”, she stated under her breath. “I want to be your woman, through and through, _now_...!”

“There’s nothing I want more”, Drastan replied huskily. “But honour forbids me to take advantage of you...”

To his surprise, Rebelle grasped his hands and placed them on her breasts.

“’Tis not _you_ taking advantage of _me_ ”, she grinned devilishly. “But _me_ of _you_!”

The blond knight couldn’t but grin in return. What a woman his Rebelle was!

“Are you truly determined?” he asked. He saw her nodding emphatically. “Then, as soon as you’re sure they’re all gone to sleep, join me at the usual spot behind the stables. We’ll go to the hunting lodge of the old baron, and we’ll become husband and wife with no need of official ceremonies.”

They had been several times already in that lodge, away from prying eyes and free of any control, and each time they found it harder to deny themselves what they were craving: the joining of their bodies to endorse the joining of their hearts. The last time, Drastan had caressed and kissed her everywhere, even in her most private part, in a surge of pleasure that had sent her into a frenzy. Only the memory of the promise she had made to Violet had dissuaded her to complete their carnal joining, and Drastan had stopped without asking for more – if he had, Rebelle doubted she could have kept herself from going through with it. But this time they would fully unleash their passion.

“Very well”, she said as the heat within her flared up even more fiercely at the thought of what they would be doing in a few hours.

Drastan gave her a smile so full of love and desire that Rebelle felt her knees almost buckle under her.

“See you later then, my love”, he said. After brushing one last time the voluptuous curve of her breasts, he took a step back and left her. Mounting on his horse, he had to sit carefully onto the saddle as his erection was pressing painfully in his trousers.

Rebelle fixed her slightly tousled hair before exiting the stables. She headed directly for her bedchamber, where she took the potion Violet had given her and poured the prescribed dose in a beaker, diluting it with water before downing it. This was the third day she was taking it, as her cousin had told her it needed at least two days to be effective. Therefore, she was perfectly right on schedule, she thought pleased as a still unfamiliar shiver crossed her depths, a sign of her desire for Drastan.

Throughout dinner, she was almost incapable of sitting quietly and she couldn’t wait for it to be over. However, she had to wait until it would be dark enough to sneak away without anyone spotting her. She had always liked summer, but on this evening, she found herself cursing the long-lasting days, which felt unending to her.

She failed to notice Violet’s glances, half amused and half anxious. When eventually a plausible time came to go to bed, Rebelle rose to give her goodnight before retiring. Violet too rose and the two cousins went upstairs together.

“Did you have your medicine?” Violet asked her quietly; Rebelle wasn’t surprised Violet had realised what she was going to do. After all, she had told her when she had asked for the potion.

“Yes, I didn’t miss one day, and I will go on until my next lunar cycle, as you instructed me”, she answered.

“That’s fine”, Violet nodded. “Be sure that nobody spots you”, she added in a conspiratorial whisper. Rebelle chuckled.

“I’ll be a ghost!” she assured her.

OOO

Rebelle waited impatiently for over one hour to be sure that all inhabitants of the mansion had gone to bed, then she stealthily went downstairs, walking barefoot as not to make any noise. When she exited from the backdoor that Robin had used in the time Marian had been their guest, she put her boots back on. The first-quarter moon barely illuminated the clear night, but nonetheless Rebelle lifted the hood of her light summer cape to hide her face and walked crouched to conceal further her build and height.

She reached the stables and skirted them, heading then for the trees. Drastan’s shape on horse was barely discernible between two impressive oaks.

Seeing her coming, the knight signalled to Mjolnir to move a few steps forwards, so that he was well detectable to Rebelle, then he bent over to give her his hand, meaning to help her hopping up behind him. The two lovers exchanged a smile, then the maiden slipped her foot into the stirrup that Drastan had freed for her and, grasping his arm, she vaulted into the saddle. As soon as Drastan felt her arms around his waist, he gave a light knock with his heels into the steed’s sides and Mjolnir began to walk. 

“Any problems in leaving the mansion?” Drastan asked, turning to face Rebelle. The maiden shook her head.

“No, none”, she paused. “But Violet guessed what we have in mind…”

“And didn’t she try to dissuade you?” Drastan enquired, wrinkling his forehead, puzzled.

“No, she knows well that, when I make a decision, I change my mind very rarely, and anyway, we discussed the matter previously.”

“But doesn’t she disapprove of this behaviour?”

“Let’s say she _officially_ disapproves”, Rebelle giggled. “But as she is a very pragmatic and smart woman, instead of trying to persuade me on waiting, she gave me good advice about avoiding… consequences. At least while we won’t be properly wed in front of the whole world.”

“She’s truly a smart woman”, Drastan commented, and he meant it. He was glad his betrothed had such a cousin.

In the darkness, it was no good thing going at a gallop even along the best kept paths in Sherwood Forest, at the most a trot and only in the most illuminated stretches, where the tree cover was to a minimum or not present. For this reason, they needed over half an hour to reach the hunting lodge.

Once there, Drastan helped Rebelle to get off the horse, then he leaped from the saddle and led Mjolnir to the small stable next to the building, where up to three horses could be hosted. He left him there without tethering him: perfectly trained, the charger wouldn’t move without his rider except for very serious reasons, such as a fire.

Drastan took Rebelle’s hand and led her to the door. When they entered, the maiden noticed that an oil lamp illuminated the room, revealing that her betrothed had got here to ready the place, before coming for her at Chetwood. She took off her cloak, dropping it on a chair, and turned to Drastan.

The knight grasped her shoulders and looked deeply into her eyes.

“I love you, Rebelle”, he said softly, before drawing her to him. She raised her face and looped her arms around his neck.

“I love you, Drastan”, she whispered back. The knight bent down and kissed her, sweetly at the beginning, then with growing urgency. Rebelle responded with equal ardour.

They stripped each other, as they had already done several times in the past weeks, but so far, one of them had always kept his or her trousers, in order to prevent the final consummation of the love act. This time though, no barrier would separate them, and finally they lay naked on the bed.

Drastan slowly caressed Rebelle’s beautiful body, with the well-toned musculature of a warrior but nonetheless endowed with supple feminine curves. After kissing her again, he slid lower, tracing a path with his lips along her neck to her breasts, where he paused to draw at the excited nipples.

Rebelle moaned as in her belly a heat began to burn, a heat that she now had begun to recognise. She realised she desperately wanted him to touch the core of her femininity and to disclose it with his tongue as he had done the previous time, but her sense of modesty prevented her to express this request in a direct way.

“Drastan...” she was only capable to whisper, slightly parting her thighs, unable to voice a more explicit invitation. In another moment, Drastan would smile with a triumphant feeling for his capability to rouse Rebelle’s yearning, but this time, aware that soon they would take their love to completion, he felt moved and his throat tightened. He had never felt like this in such moments, not even his first time when the main feeling had been curiosity.

He lowered his hand, brushing the dark curls adorning the access to Rebelle’s feminine treasure, and with light fingers he traced circles around her nub. Rebelle moaned louder, moving her hips at the rhythm of his ministrations, and on his fingers Drastan felt the dew of her desire. With the tip of his tongue, he brushed one more time the nipple he had in his mouth and then he left it to slip lower, placing kisses on her throbbing belly as he approached his goal.

Rebelle held her breath expectantly. When Drastan’s lips replaced his fingers, a long, sighing moan escaped her throat. Not realising her cheekiness, she spread her legs wider and rotated her hips so to give him better access to the most intimate spot of her body. Delighted, Drastan moved between Rebelle’s thighs and kissed the soft skin of their inner part. He felt tipsy with the scent of her arousal. He heard her murmuring something in an unsatisfied tone and, wanting to please her, he lowered his head again. With the tip of his tongue, he followed the cleft between the petals of her flower, opening her gently as Rebelle’s moans became even louder. He lingered there for a few more moments, savouring her deeply. Finally he rose, moving slowly up her body, placing kisses on her skin from her belly to her throat.

Rebelle cracked her eyelids open, overwhelmed by the pleasure Drastan was giving her, her eyes misty, her mind clouded. When he positioned himself above her, propping on his elbows so that he didn’t crush her, she surrounded him with her arms, impatient to become one flesh with him... Then, all of a sudden, she realised what was about to happen. Her facial expression changed, becoming suddenly attentive, almost alarmed. Detecting it, Drastan was puzzled, but nevertheless, he stopped immediately.

“What is it, my heart?” he asked softly, afraid he had her frightened somehow, but not guessing any reason for it, as she knew a man’s passion...

“I didn’t tell you something important”, Rebelle hastily whispered. “I... I am a virgin.”

For a long minute, Drastan didn’t literally understand what he had been told.

“W... what?” he spluttered. “A virgin? You... have had no other men, before me?”

“No, never...”

His virility pulsed painfully, demanding relief, but he ignored it. For a few moments, he couldn’t think straight, because his thoughts were whirling crazily. Then they lined up into a reasoning.

_He was Rebelle’s first man._

_She had chosen him._

_No other._

He hadn’t cared about the fact she had had other lovers before him, but learning he had been wrong thrilled him inexpressibly.

For a moment he wondered why she hadn’t told him before, but he thought that this could wait.

He smiled at her tenderly.

“I am honoured”, he whispered. “I’m going to take it easy, I promise”, he added in a reassuring tone. Rebelle nodded, as she hadn’t the slightest doubt he would do.

Drastan knew that for a woman the first time could be painful, if the man wasn’t gentle. He had had his share of virgins and therefore he had learned how to act to avoid, at least in a large way, causing a pain he thought both unfair and unnecessary. Therefore, he lingered for some more moments, teasing her with the tip of his masculinity to arouse her further and make her forget all her possible fears. Then, with extreme slowness, he began to thrust within her, ready to stop at the slightest sign of stiffening or pain. But Rebelle had been more than adequately aroused and, moreover, she trusted him completely. The new feeling not only didn’t frighten her, but excited her further. Her eyes widened as she felt him slipping slowly deeper in her body. Used to resist the pain of the frequent incidents occurring during training sessions, she didn’t heed the sting she felt and she seemed to experience only pleasure as the male rod rubbed against her desire-swollen nub.

Drastan kept his eyes on Rebelle’s face all along, carefully searching for possible signs of discomfort, and he relaxed only when he was completely joined to her. He was glad that he had apparently caused her no pain.

The two lovers exchanged a glance, bright with love and happiness. At last, they were one flesh, as they had wanted for so long, and for a few moments they were perfectly still, savouring both the physical and spiritual feeling.

“I love you, Drastan”, Rebelle murmured, her throat tight with emotion.

“I love you, my wonderful bride-to-be”, Drastan murmured in return. Slowly, he began moving his hips, withdrawing and then shoving forwards again, in a gentle way as to accustom her body to his. After a few moments, acting completely out of natural impulse, Rebelle began to move in counterpoint, retreating when he retreated, raising when he plunged. Drastan sighed in pleasure. 

“Yes… there you go, my love...” he encouraged her, pleased by her reaction that showed her sensual and passionate nature. Every man dreams of such a woman in his bed, and he had been lucky enough to find her.

He moved, changing position and angle within her, until he heard her moan louder in pleasure. Satisfied he had found the spot he was looking for – which every woman possessed, but was different for each one – he began to thrust harder, arousing further amorous moans and sighs. He had taken her to completion already several times, using his fingers or his tongue or both, and he was aware that it wasn’t easy to take a virgin to the topmost point the first time she biblically knew a man, nevertheless he always did his best, and this time more than ever, given the feelings he had for his partner.

Rebelle felt a heat growing in her belly. The times Drastan had given her pleasure, she had felt something like this, but never so powerful. At each thrust, she was lifted towards a peak she had often imagined, especially after she had begun nuzzling with Drastan, a peak that was still invisible and unknown to her, and as a result, her expectation grew constantly, making her longing for something she didn’t know yet.

Step by step, Drastan led her higher, and higher still, until he took her to the threshold and, with a last thrust, he propelled her farther, hurling her into the vortex of ecstasy.

The sensation overwhelmed Rebelle, She screamed, astonished by the pleasure she was feeling. Her feminine depths convulsed, squeezing Drastan’s flesh. He reached his peak and let go, and his contractions added to Rebelle’s, increasing their mutual pleasure, and both gasped, out of breath. For long moments, they felt as if they were out of this world, in a different, ineffable dimension where only pleasure existed, both their own and that of the other one.

Slowly, the turmoil of their senses calmed down and, still out of breath, they looked into each other’s eyes. Drastan hadn’t realised he had propped up on his arms for the final strokes and therefore he now settled back upon Rebelle, both to rest and to be closer to her.

“’Twas far better than I had imagined”, Rebelle murmured in a tone that clearly spoke of her amazement. Drastan nodded.

“For me too”, he admitted in a low voice. Then, he arched an eyebrow as a smirk bent his lips. “Did you imagine it many times?”

“Oh yes”, she confessed. “Since our first kiss.”

“I, long before that”, he grinned. Rebelle pretended being offended and playfully slapped his shoulder.

“You’ve got a dirty mind!”

“Very... but since I met you, only about you”, Drastan declared, lowering his head and taking her lips in a searing kiss that left her no doubts about the fact he desired only her and none other.

“Be always dirty-minded around me”, she whispered as soon as she could speak again, her eyes sparkling with renewed passion.

“And you around me”, he invited her, returning her gaze with equal passion. “Every time you fancy to”, A thought crossed his mind. “I assumed you’ve been with other men”, he said in a low voice. “Why didn’t you tell me before that instead you hadn’t? I would’ve behaved differently...”

Rebelle chuckled.

“That’s precisely the reason I didn’t tell you”, she admitted. “I wanted you… _dirty-minded_ around me.”

Drastan needed a few moments to process what he had just heard. Then his lips bent into a slow, pleased grin: he adored it when she showed her cheekiness. And now he knew she did it and would always do it only with him and him alone. He felt like he was the luckiest man in the world.

They exchanged many kisses full of sweetness and emotion. Then, Drastan pulled back, finding himself and Rebelle stained with her virginal blood. A few drops had leaked on the sheet. He decided he would personally wash it, so that nobody would suspect what had happened.

He moved to rise and saw his betrothed gazing at him quizzically.

“I’m going to fetch a clean cloth”, he explained. Rebelle nodded, showing she understood. Soon enough, Drastan was back and handed her a towel. She used it to clean herself, then Drastan did likewise. He put the towel aside, planning to wash it personally along with the sheet.

It was very late by now and, reluctantly, the two lovers got dressed again. Getting on horseback, Rebelle uttered an annoyed sound.

“I feel sore”, she mumbled. Drastan called himself a moron for not thinking about it.

“’Tis normal”, he said. “After all, you suffered a small wound, even if it had a pleasant consequence. Wait...”

He took the towel from the saddlebag, folded it so that the blood stains would be on the inside of the bundle, and then handed it to his betrothed.

“Here, sit on it”, he suggested.

“Much better”, Rebelle said after a moment. The wrapped towel cushioned her from the hard leather of the saddle, relieving her soreness.

When they arrived at Chetwood, the two lovers parted with a long kiss full of tenderness, then Rebelle sneaked into the house and went to bed, unseen.

Drastan turned Mjolnir and headed for Nottingham. The entire way, an ecstatic smile kept the corners of his mouth lifted upwards.


	15. Chapter XV

Chapter XV

Nottingham, July 1st, 1194

Guy rose when Violet entered his office.

“Thank you for receiving me with no notice, Sir Guy”, the young woman said.

“You can come to me whenever you like, Lady Violet”, the sheriff reassured her. “Please, take a seat”, he added, showing her the chair in front of his desk. “What can I do for you?”

Violet sat down and smoothed the wrinkles of her lilac silk gown, trying desperately to hide her nerves. She had spent three days thinking and rethinking about Rebelle’s suggestion and she had come to the conclusion that her cousin was right: among all the possible candidates she could imagine becoming her new husband, Guy was the most preferable. Therefore, in contrast to the custom of her father offering his daughter’s hand to the selected man – when it wasn’t the aspiring husband going to the father to ask for it – she had come to make him her proposal in person, because after all it was _she_ who had decided, in complete autonomy, exactly as she had asked to be allowed to do.

All the way from Chetwood to Nottingham, she had wondered how to formulate the difficult speech. She had decided to come at it sideways, beginning from the premise and explaining the situation to Guy, and then proposing him the marriage.

“Almost no one knows about the family relationship between Vaisey of Nottingham and William of Chetwood”, she started. As she had foreseen, Guy became more attentive. “To be exact, Vaisey was first cousin to my father. Vaisey’s father was Gerard of Nottingham’s eldest son, while my father’s father was the second-born son.”

She paused to allow Guy guessing alone the obvious conclusion. The sheriff needed only a few moments: now the enigma of King Richard’s reference to the title of Nottingham in his letter of condolence to William was solved!

“So your father is the legitimate heir to the Barony of Nottingham”, he said in a low voice. He waited for Violet confirming it with a nod before going on, narrowing his eyes. “Why has Sir William been hiding it? And why are you telling me now?”

His sharp look made Violet uncomfortable.

“My father didn’t tell you because he had no intention to take the title”, she answered. “He wanted to pass it down directly to Jeffrey, therefore we sent immediately for him, certain that King Richard would send him back to England. Instead...” her voice trembled. “Instead my brother is dead, with no heirs.”

“There are surely other relatives...” Guy began, but he stopped seeing Violet shaking her head. “Then Sir William could remarry and try to have another son.”

Again, Violet shook her head.

“King Richard thinks that the issue of the succession can be solved in another way”, she informed him in a low voice. “That is, through me.”

“Through you?” Guy repeated, confused, then he grasped it. “Your firstborn son will inherit the title”, he concluded, frowning.

“Precisely”, Violet confirmed in a distressed tone. For a long minute, Guy just stared blankly at her without understanding her misery, but then, the implications of the situation became clear to him.

“You were ordered to get a husband”, he stated.

Once more, Violet nodded. Guy felt in his mouth the bitter taste of bile as his stomach churned at the thought of her in another man’s arms.

“Did your father already choose your spouse?” he enquired quietly. Violet took on a hard expression he had never seen on her face.

“No, and he won’t, either. I put the condition I could choose myself whom I’m going to marry. Otherwise, I’ll take the vows and lock myself into a convent.”

Her resolute tone left no room to doubts: she was really going to do it.

“I understand from your statement that you have very little wish to get another husband”, Guy considered. He wondered what the reason for such reluctance might be. He would understand if Sir William was going to impose on her an unwelcomed spouse, but as he let her choose freely, Guy didn’t comprehend why Violet was so recalcitrant.

“So it is, indeed”, Violet confirmed. “My wish was to stay at Chetwood for the rest of my life, running the estate and helping my brother with his children. Instead, his death changed everything.”

“I see”, Guy said. “But... why are you telling all this to me?”

The moment had finally come. Violet opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again.

“I... I...” she stammered. She swallowed, then she regained her composure. “They suggested...” she tried again, just to stop a second time. He waited patiently. After a few moments, Violet gathered all her courage. “Sir Guy, would you consider the idea of marrying me?”

This knocked the wind out of Guy.

“I beg your pardon...?”

Now that she had spilled the beans, Violet felt relieved. She took a deep breath.

“Would you agree to be my husband?” she repeated. “You would take on the title of Baron of Nottingham through marriage, and... and our eldest son would inherit it.”

It was difficult for her to speak about children, because of what she would be forced to do to get pregnant. The thought made her stomach churn, because even if she was perfectly aware that Guy wasn’t Charles, the thought of laying with a man frightened and disgusted her.

Guy stared at her in silence, too amazed to be capable of speaking. A few minutes passed by.

“If you want to refuse, don’t feel embarrassed, just say it...” Violet whispered at length, disheartened. She paused because she saw Guy shaking his head.

“I’m not embarrassed because I don’t know how to refuse, Lady Violet”, he said slowly. “Actually, you’re doing me a great honour in offering me your hand, but I’d like to know: why me?”

“Because I’ve known you since I was a child”, she explained honestly, “and I know you’re a good man...”

Again, she paused because Guy was shaking his head.

“Even if in Vaisey’s service I committed atrocious deeds?” she heard him ask in a soft voice.

“Vaisey misguided you”, Violet declared firmly. “You’ve never been an evil man, even if you committed some terrible deeds, ‘Twas _him_ , the evil one. You had to follow his orders because you had sworn him loyalty, and disobeying him would mean your death as a traitor, except he’d release you from your oath, but I bet he’d have never done so.”

Guy nodded.

“You’re right, he would never do so”, he confirmed. “He had too much fun having me following his worst orders, like evicting poor people and setting fire to their houses and workshops... or beat women and old people... and even worse things of which you have no idea. I had shut down my mind and heart, willing to bear anything and even to pretend I liked it, just to have the chance to get back Gisborne. And I pretended so well with myself, that I was truly convinced there was no other way. I don’t know how this would have ended, if I stayed in Vaisey’s service. Lady Violet, believe me: I’m not the good man you think I am.”

“Yes you are”, she contradicted him. “Aren’t you doing whatever it takes to show yourself just, to make up for the evil you committed in that monster’s service? You changed the tax system, making it fairer; you ordered the rebuilding of Knighton Hall and other buildings burnt down by the will of Vaisey; you reinforced the safety of the county roads against highwaymen; you even stayed the ban on Robin’s head and on his men’s!”

“That’s true, my lady. However, you don’t know everything, you don’t know all of my crimes. Should you know them, you wouldn’t want to marry me.”

Violet fell silent, pondering his words.

“I cannot believe you’ve committed unforgivable crimes”, she said. “Many of your deeds looked to me orchestrated in a way that the worst consequences would be avoided, possibly with Robin’s intervention. For instance, why did you leave Seth exactly on the path leading to Kirklees, a place which notoriously receives help from Robin and his men? If you truly wanted to abandon the baby to die, you would take him deeper into the forest, to some isolated place, where nobody ever goes.”

She looked at him steadily, challenging him to contradict her.

Hearing her mention the son Annie had borne him, Guy set his jaw. Violet had a very sharp mind, he thought, having guessed what he had planned, that is, letting Robin find the baby and therefore making sure he would save it. However, he said nothing about it.

“I’d be very honoured to become your husband”, he said, “and not only for the benefits this marriage would give me. You are... a very desirable woman even without having the Barony of Nottingham as a dowry.”

Violet’s eyes widened. She had a hard time believing at what she had just heard. Guy was telling her he thought her attractive – no, more than that: _desirable_ – and not for the title she could offer him. Her heart somersaulted in her chest, but she refused to think that this declaration was thrilling her, because this was a business transaction, no more and no less. Nothing to do with sentiments.

“So you’ll consider my proposal?” she enquired.

 _I’d marry you even tomorrow_ , flashed through Guy’s mind. The idea left him astounded, because, of course, he liked Violet, he found her desirable under many point of views, but thinking about making her his wife, well, _that_ was a pretty big leap. He closed his eyes. He had craved Marian to the point he had been ready, in his folly, to force her into marrying him, blackmailing and even coercing her. Now he had realised it had never been love, but only will of possession, a way to get lands through marriage, as he seemed unable to gain back Gisborne, which belonged to Locksley. _And now?_ he wondered. He didn’t want to _possess_ Violet, nor was he interested in her lands, or the title she was giving as a dowry. Of course, the idea of becoming baron by marrying her was attractive, and once he would have seized such an opportunity with no hesitation, an opportunity that was much more than what he had ever dreamt of, that is, recovering Gisborne. But now, he was no longer the same man he had been earlier: the knowledge he had almost killed Marian had changed him; Vaisey’s death had freed him; the appointment to pro tempore sheriff had given him the opportunity to make up for the misdeeds he had done at the old baron’s service.

He reopened his eyes and met Violet’s gaze. She was still staring at him, waiting for an answer.

“Before answering you, my lady, there are some things you need to know about me”, he said slowly. “Things of which I’m not proud, but my respect for you demands that I must be completely, brutally honest with you, as far as risking you changing your mind and withdrawing your proposal, and possibly even reporting me.”

Struck by his words, Violet kept silent for several moments before replying.

“I am convinced that you’re basically a good man, I already told you that and I repeat it now”, she affirmed. “You committed misdeeds, but most of them have been undone by an apparent ineptitude that I cannot associate with a man of your intelligence. I suspect you deliberately left loopholes that, with or without Robin’s intervention, have allowed limited damages, if not avoiding them completely. Like with Seth. In this particular case, I know that Annie receives regularly money from an unknown giver. Am I wrong in thinking ‘tis you?” she saw him flinching and smirked. “Just as I thought. You don’t need to be ashamed, but if you prefer remaining anonymous, I won’t betray your secret”, she folded her hands in her lap. “I’m ready: tell me what you think I must know.”

Guy nodded, then he rose and went to the guard watching his door.

“Thomas, nobody shall interrupt us until further notice”, he commanded, “Except Sir Drastan in case of emergency, or if the castle catches fire. See to it.”

“Yes, Lord Sheriff”, the soldier answered, snapping to attention. Satisfied, Guy closed the door and went back to his chair. He was quiet for some moments, collecting his thoughts, then he spoke in a soft voice, keeping his eyes on Violet in order to catch her reactions.

“After the fire that destroyed Gisborne Manor”, he started, “as both our parents were dead and we were deprived of our inheritance, my sister and I sought shelter and help from our mother’s French relatives, but instead of welcoming us, they cast us out. Isabella and me returned to England and lived on charity for a few years, sleeping in barns, working in taverns, stables, fields. I tried to protect her as best as I could, but when she grew up and became a woman, more and more often I had to defend her from callous men who wouldn’t hesitate to rape her if I wasn’t there to stop them. Once, I had to fight against three of them and I was barely able to get through it. That’s when I decided the only way to keep Isabella safe was by getting her married, but I also wanted to become a knight and gain back Gisborne – on the edge of my sword, if necessary, or anyway to get it back thanks to my deeds or money. Therefore, I thought about combining the two things. I found a well-off man, Thornton, who declared his willingness to marry Isabella with no dowry and to give me enough money in return so that I could buy a horse and the equipment to become a squire. Basically, I _sold_ my sister for the opportunity to achieve my knighthood.”

Guy paused, unsure on how he should take Violet’s lack of reactions.

“You haven’t anything to say?” he asked in a quiet tone.

Violet pondered carefully the information.

“’Twas surely not a nice deed from your part”, she admitted at length, she too in a quiet tone. “But you could have done worse: you could have forced Isabella into prostitution to get the money you needed. Instead, you found her a husband, providing her with an honourable marriage.”

“She was only thirteen”, Guy insisted.

“A little premature age, but acceptable”, Violet observed. “A great many maidens are married off at thirteen. I myself was only two years older.”

“So you don’t blame me for this?”

Violet decided she would be honest with him as much he was being honest with her.

“Not so much as to make me reconsider the idea to have you as a husband”, she therefore answered.

Guy took a breath before going on.

“I never saw Isabella afterwards”, he murmured. “I hope she hadn’t a bad marriage. Thornton didn’t seem a bad match, nor a dishonest man, and he looked sincerely interested in her. Anyway, I gained my knighthood – among other things, I met Drastan during my period of apprenticeship – and then I sought a nobleman who would take me into his service. I thought I had a stroke of luck when, a few years later, the Baron of Nottingham hired me, because I’d be near home and I thought it easier to recover Gisborne. Instead, I allowed Vaisey to corrupt me, slowly enough I almost didn’t notice it, until I was blind and deaf to the suffering of others, focussed on the ambition, and only on that, to regain possession of my family’s lands, for the loss of which I blamed Robin of Locksley.”

Guy paused to take another breath. Now came the most difficult part, the part that would mark him as an undesirable match.

“’Twas then that the baron told me about a secret lodge, the Black Knights, which Prince John had founded in order to eliminate King Richard and take over the throne”, he continued, his voice even lower than before. “I became part of their sect and I was sent to the Holy Land to murder the king.”

Violet uttered a horrified gasp and placed one hand to her chest: this was high treason!

Here it was, Guy thought, now she would have nothing to do with him anymore.

“’Twas Robin who stopped me, intervening in time to prevent my attempted regicide”, he went on, with a kind of fierce despair. “He wounded me in my arm, cutting the tattoo I had received when I joined the Black Knights. I returned without completing my mission. Now I’m glad of it, but at that time, in his wrath Vaisey was one step away from killing me like a dog. He never forgave my failure. When he decided to go himself to the Holy Land to kill the king, I thought ‘twas the perfect chance to make amends, finishing what I had begun”, he shook his head, his face expressing such a pain that Violet, even if aghast because of his tale, felt her heart clenching. “But ‘twas fate that I would fail once more…”

Guy paused, clenching his jaw so hard he gritted his teeth. Now came the worst part, which would surely convince Violet to withdraw her proposal.

“You know I injured Marian almost mortally”, he went on with an effort, “but you don’t know the circumstances. In the ambush of King Richard, this time ‘twas her who stopped me, Marian who had figured it all out and whom we had therefore taken with us as a prisoner, in order to prevent her from denouncing us. Marian who, to protect the king whom Vaisey had wounded and I was supposed to finish, came between my target and me. She yelled at me her contempt and, at the same time, her love for Robin. We started to fight… and I almost killed her”, he concluded brutally. He stared into Violet’s eyes, as if to challenge her. Under the challenge, though, Violet discerned an immense, excruciating torment, and she felt deeply troubled, so much, she was unable to utter a word for some time.

Guy waited a few moments, but seeing she wasn’t going to respond, he spoke again.

“Lady Violet...” he said in an almost anguished tone. “You cannot possibly want me to marry you still, after all I confessed to you!”

Violet remained silent for some more moments, trying to work out the revelations she had just received.

“Under the law, your worst crime is the attempted regicide”, she considered, speaking slowly. “There’s nothing worse than plotting against the king. However, the boy I once knew, the boy who tried to protect his sister with every mean as long as he could, who when he was no longer able to do so, chose to marry her off instead of running her as a prostitute, that boy would never do such a thing on his own initiative. The fault and the responsibility belong to the one who made you lose tracks, leading you astray and deluding you into believing it was the only way to have back what you had lost – position, land, status – vilely exploiting your ambition and your hopes. You know to whom I’m referring.”

Guy nodded slightly, unsure what she was getting at.

“An attempted regicide is worth a death sentence”, he reminded her quietly.

“But if you expose these Black Knights you named, reporting to the king who is part of this vile association, you can hope in his clemency”, Violet suggested.

Guy held his breath. This was something he had never considered.

“You think so?” he whispered, a tiny spark of hope lighting up in his soul, “No, this is too much to ask...” he sighed, as the spark died. He wasn’t worth it, he simply wasn’t...

“You cannot know that”, Violet objected quietly.

“No, of course”, the knight admitted. “However, all this would make our marriage very unsafe. Think of it: we marry, but when the king will return from the Holy Land, he’ll learn that his brother John appointed me pro tempore sheriff and will have to decide whether confirm or revoke the appointment. This means that he’ll want to meet me and, the very moment he’ll see me, he’ll recognize me as the one backing up Vaisey in the ambush in that Saracen village.”

Violet pondered his words.

“But if you expect to be hanged for treason, why did you accept the post as sheriff?” she asked, confused. “Why not, for instance, return to France, or go to Scotland, offering your services to King William, possibly with another name?”

Guy set his jaw.

“Because I wanted to do something to make up for the evil I’ve committed here in Nottingham”, he confessed in a very low voice. “My plan was going away as soon as I learnt about King Richard’s return to England, leaving the office to Drastan until the king would appoint another sheriff”, he shook his head. “If I’d wed you, my lady, I’d have to abandon you in order to save my life, or trust into the king’s mercy, risking ending up on the gallows as a traitor, should he not grant me his pardon because I exposed the plotters. You cannot want me as your husband, with these premises.”

Violet kept thinking frantically. Her whole nice plan to marry Guy seemed having been nullified because of his confession.

“The king won’t come back from the Holy Land for a while longer”, she considered. “We could wed immediately and, who knows, when Richard will return in England we could already have a son, so we’ll have an heir for the fief of Nottingham. Then, you’ll choose whether to stay and confront the king’s justice, or to take shelter abroad. I believe that, if you keep acting as you’re doing now, there will be many people willing to testify in your favour before Richard, confirming your repentance for the past deeds, for which I anyway think Vaisey more responsible than you.”

Guy stared at Violet for some moments, confused.

“Why are you so determined to marry me, in spite of everything?” he asked at length.

Violet hesitated. Guy’s honesty had brought him to expose himself to the risk of being reported by her for his involvement in the conspiracy to kill the king, and this commanded her to be as much honest, but she felt too embarrassed and ashamed to confess him he was the only man she knew who inspired her enough trust to make tolerable the idea of accomplishing her wifely duty.

She decided on giving him a different, but equally truthful explanation.

“My first husband had no respect for me”, she therefore said. “Oh, he treated me with the formal respect a gentleman owes to a lady, but ‘tis not what I want from a husband. I seek someone who truly esteems me, who respects me as a person, and takes into account my opinions, my wishes, my aspirations, someone who _really_ listens to me when I speak, and who possibly follows my suggestions when they’re more sensible or effective than his. In simple terms, I wish my husband to treat me fairly, as an equal, and that he never tosses me aside just because I’m a woman. I think you respect me, Sir Guy, and that’s why I think you could be a good husband for me.”

Guy had kept staring at her as she was speaking. He sensed she wasn’t telling him everything. He wondered what it was about but, as she was right when she affirmed he respected her, he decided he wouldn’t investigate, for now. If they married, he would have plenty of time to gain her trust after the wedding, until she would feel ready to tell him what she was now concealing.

“You’re right”, he said. “I respect you very much. And as I said earlier, I’d be very honoured to accept your hand, but ‘tis too much an important decision to answer it without thinking it through.”

“I don’t expect you to answer me on the spot”, Violet hurriedly said, relieved he hadn’t refused and, on the contrary, was repeating he felt honoured. “I too thought it through for days, before coming to you”, she rose, “Well, I’ll leave you to make all the considerations you need. When you’ve made your decision, come to Chetwood.”

Guy rose in turn from his chair.

“I will, my lady”, he assured her. He walked her to the door and opened it. “I won’t keep you awaiting for long, only a few days, I promise.”

She nodded.

“Goodbye then, for now”, she said.

“Goodbye, Lady Violet.”

Guy watched her as she went, walking down the hall with her elegant pace.

Her husband, he thought bewildered. She had asked him to be _her husband_. And she hadn’t withdrawn her request not even after learning about his worst crimes. What an incredible woman. He wasn’t worthy of her... but nevertheless, she wanted to marry him.

He went back into his office and sat in his chair, pondering. Suddenly, he was taken aback by the thought of the intimacy he and Violet would share after the wedding. Involuntarily, he pictured in his mind the two of them in bed together, joined in the conjugal act, Violet’s face transfixed with the pleasure he was giving her. A hot shudder crossed him, both sensual and of deep emotion.

Making love with Violet would be wonderful...

 _Love_.

The word struck him.

Was he in love with her? And if so, how was it possible?

Differently than with Marian, he had put Violet’s well-being before his own. The man he had once been would had accepted her offer with no hesitation, becoming Baron of Nottingham, seizing all of Vaisey’s possessions, as well as William of Chetwood’s. However, the man he was now couldn’t do so. He had told her about his most nefarious deeds because he could not, he did not want deceive her in any way. He had been sure that Violet, horrified, would reconsider her offer; but no, she had insisted. She had explained why she wanted exactly him in a plausible way, though the feeling she hadn’t told him everything still persisted. Perhaps she loved him back, but didn’t want to admit it, possibly fearing to be refused? But no, he told himself, a woman like her simply _could not_ fall in love with a man like him. However, love was rarely taken into account in a marriage between nobles, as marriage was essentially a business agreement between families and often the spouses had no say in it, unlike the two of them. And anyway, he didn’t know if he was in love with Violet or not, so it was better to keep on considering it only a mere agreement that brought benefits to both.

OOO

Violet left the castle feeling shaken and confused. Shaken, because Guy had revealed to her he had taken part in a plot against the king, a dreadful crime which punishment was death by hanging; and confused, because despite this she hadn’t changed her mind about her will to marry him. In the face of these sins, she should have run away, distraught, but the fact he had made her privy to his misdeeds had shown his correctness, and this had reinforced Violet’s decision.

The thought about any other in her bed disgusted her too much.

 _Better a man who committed crimes in his past that he now repents,_ Violet thought, _than one apparently irreproachable but mistreating me in private._

No need for anyone else to know, she decided. She would keep it secret. They would wed, have a son to give continuity to the barony, and then they would see how to face the issue of the attempted regicide.


	16. Chapter XVI

Chapter XVI

Chetwood, July 4th, 1194

Violet entered the hall where Guy was waiting for her, his gaze lost into the distance out of the window. He had arrived a few minutes earlier, asking to see her alone.

The black-clad knight turned, straightening all his considerable height. Violet caught herself – not for the first time – thinking he was truly very attractive.

“Good afternoon, Sir Guy”, she greeted him, approaching him.

“To you too, Lady Violet”, he answered, meeting her halfway. “Thank you for receiving me so readily.”

“No need to thank me. You know you’re always welcome, here.”

They halted two steps apart from one another.

“Thank you, my lady”, Guy said, feeling a gratitude that warmed his heart. “I came to give you my answer to your proposal”, he went on, going straight to the point and speaking with a confidence that he didn’t actually feel. “If you haven’t changed your mind… I’d be honoured to accept.”

For a moment, Violet held her breath, feeling incredulous. When she breathed again, she was enormously relieved.

“Thank you, Sir Guy”, she whispered. “I’m very grateful.”

“No, Lady Violet, I am the one who’s grateful”, he said softly. “Though I confessed you my past iniquities, you still think well of me. I promise you I’ll do all I can to prove worthy of your trust.”

Violet felt a lump in her throat and had to swallow twice before she could breathe.

“You have no idea how important ‘tis for me knowing I can trust my husband…” she whispered.

Guy wrinkled his brow. There again came another hint to Violet’s previous marriage. As they were now practically betrothed, he decided the moment had come to ask for more information.

“You mean you couldn’t trust your first husband?” he asked in the most delicate way he was capable.

Violet realised she had said too much, but now she couldn’t take back the sentence she had just voiced.

“That’s right”, she confirmed quietly. “But I’m not ready to tell you everything just yet. I ask you therefore not to make me add more, for the moment.”

From something in her attitude, Guy guessed she was suffering because of what she was so reluctant to reveal, but he realised that speaking about it right now would make her suffer even more, and this was the last thing on earth he wanted.

“I respect your reticence, Lady Violet”, he said. “But there should be no secrets between two spouses.”

She nodded, though with reluctance. Guy was right and, sooner or later, she had to tell him. It would be better to do it before the wedding night, as to ask him to be gentle with her, unlike Charles had been. However, would she be able to do it? She had talked about it with Rebelle, but even if they were sisterly friends, she had barely managed it…

Momentarily satisfied with her mute answer, Guy moved on.

“Did you already think about a date?” he asked.

 _When hell freezes over_ , flashed through Violet’s mind. Even if the bridegroom pleased her and she didn’t mind the thought to share her days with him, the nights still frightened her.

“Actually, no”, she answered. “Mainly because I didn’t know if you would accept my proposal or not.”

“Right”, Guy admitted grimacing, supposing he had asked a silly question.

“Anyway”, Violet went on with an effort. “I thought that, to avoid Prince John interfering and getting his hands on the barony under the pretext of giving it to the Crown, the sooner we wed, the better.”

“I agree. You decide, my lady. Anything is good for me.”

Violet took a breath, slow and deep, like one does before a headlong dive.

“Three weeks from today”, she said. She figured that this was the amount of time she needed to have a new gown cut and ready to wear for the wedding ceremony. The previous one had been a rich dark blue, representative of her purity as a virgin. Now it would be purple, _her_ colour, representing her as a person.

“You’re a determined woman”, Guy commented with a slight smile. “I confess I appreciate this quality very much. So, three weeks it shall be.”

“Fine. For the blessing of the nuptials, do you prefer the Nottingham Cathedral or another church or chapel?”

“It depends on how you wish the ceremony to be: grand or intimate?”

Violet had already experienced pomp, when she had married Charles. This time, she preferred something very different.

“Intimate. Just family and best friends”, she therefore said. Guy nodded in approval, thinking that it was better this way, as he, from his part, would have only Drastan, whom he would ask to be his best man. The only family he had left was his sister Isabella, but he didn’t know where she was.

“Then I suggest a chapel or a small church. What about St. Ethelbert? ‘Tis very close to the castle. It would be easier for the guests to come for the wedding banquet, and they could even stay overnight, if they wish so.”

Violet pondered for a minute.

“That’s fine with me”, she accepted. “Harper is already taking care of the marriage contract between Rebelle and Drastan. He could do that for ours too. What you say?” she enquired, mentioning Nottingham’s notary.

“Fine. And I’ll send for Drewmore, to have him prepare the engagement rings and the wedding rings.”

“I’ll give you one of my rings, so Drewmore can forge them the right size for me”, Violet said, thinking how Drastan and Rebelle had managed it.

“Excellent”, Guy approved.

Violet quickly headed for her chamber, where she took a silver ring adorned with an amethyst from her jewellery box. Back in the hall, she handed it to Guy, who put it into his pouch.

“Well, now that we have settled everything, we should go and tell my father, shouldn’t we?” Violet suggested.

“Fair enough”, the sheriff accepted. Thus, Violet led him to Sir William’s parlour, where they found him engaged into a solitary chess game.

“Nice to see you, Sir Guy”, William welcomed the sheriff, courteously. Only a few months back, he had never thought he would say such a thing to the one who had been Vaisey’s henchman, but now Guy was a very different man.

“My pleasure, Sir William”, Guy reciprocated with equal courtesy.

“Please, have a seat”, William said. “Would you like some cider? They just now brought in a fresh carafe”, he added, hinting to the small table next to his chair. On it was a tray with a ceramic jug and beaker.

“Thank you”, Guy accepted. Violet reopened the door to call for Mary to bring two more beakers, then she took a seat next to Guy.

“What brings you to Chetwood, sheriff?” William enquired.

“Your daughter”, Guy answered, earning a surprised glance from the older knight. “But I think she prefers telling you herself the reason”, he added, looking at the one who now actually was his betrothed. That is, unless William had a problem with that, but as he had let his daughter free to choose whomever she wanted, he thought it unlikely, even if it was anyway possible for William to oppose the wedding.

“Let’s wait for Mary”, Violet suggested, not wanting the entrance of the handmaid interrupting her. Soon enough, Mary arrived with the two beakers, placed them on the small table and took her leave with a respectful curtsey. William looked at Violet.

“So what, my daughter?” he urged her.

Violet had used the delay to decide how she would announce to him the engagement. It hadn’t been difficult because she, like her father, didn’t like to beat around the bush.

“’Tis about my marriage”, she began therefore, going straight to it. “A few days ago I asked Sir Guy if he was willing to marry me, and today he came to tell me he is.”

William made an understandably surprised gesture.

“Good heavens!” he muttered, not knowing what to say. Obviously, they weren’t here to ask for his permission – after all, he had granted Violet full freedom of choice and promised he wouldn’t object, not even if the man of her choice was a peasant – and therefore he was uncertain about how he had to deal with this news. “I see…”

Guy noticed the older man’s uneasiness.

“Sir William, your daughter explained the situation to me”, he came to his aid. “Your kinship with Vaisey, King Richard’s decision about the succession, and that you granted her permission to choose freely her husband. I’m highly honoured she thought about me and, even if I frankly don’t believe I deserve such an honour, I’m very happy to accept. And I’m not talking about the title of baron I’ll achieve with the marriage”, he added, casting a glance to his betrothed. “I’m talking about the fact that I fancy Violet very much. I’d happily marry her even with no dowry”, he concluded right away.

Violet felt her cheeks burning as her heart skipped one beat. This wasn’t the first time Guy made her understand he found her desirable as a woman, but she hadn’t expected he would declare this openly in front of her father.

William squinted and watched the sheriff closely. Once, he had regarded him a despicable man, just a little less than he had regarded Vaisey, a man deserving only contempt, and rather than having him as a son-in-law, he would kill him. But now he had realised that he actually was a very different person, whom the circumstances had brought to act in an odious way and who now only wished to ransom the execrable deeds he had committed in the past. Perhaps he wasn’t in love with his daughter, but it was apparent he was attracted to her, and respected her. Many marriages had not even that, as a basis.

“I’m glad of it”, he said at length. “If you’re both good with it, I give you my blessing, even if ‘tis not required, considering the conditions my daughter dictated”, he smiled at her to lighten his statement that otherwise could be seen as a reproach. “Did you already discuss the date?”

“Yes, we did”, Violet answered, then told him what she and Guy had agreed.

“Don’t you want an official ceremony for your betrothal?” William asked her in the end.

“No, I don’t”, Violet declared. “Our loss is too fresh, and anyway I don’t think ‘tis fair I’d have one while Rebelle had renounced it for the same reason. Only if you’d like it, Sir Guy?”

Guy couldn’t care less.

“No, no”, he therefore answered, shaking his head. “We’ll exchange the formal promise at home, like Drastan and Rebelle did.”

“Very well, then”, Violet concluded. “We’ll proceed as soon as you fetch the rings.”

“Let’s have a toast”, William suggested. All things considered, he was satisfied with his daughter’s choice. He hoped that Guy would treat her well and that possibly between the two of them would rise a feeling similar to that he had had the luck to share with Adèle.

Violet poured the cider and then they drank. Eventually, Guy took his leave.

“How long do you think Drewmore will need for the engagement rings?” Violet asked him as she walked him to the door.

“Two or three days, I suppose”, the sheriff reckoned.

“Fine. Meanwhile, I’ll ask Harper to write the marriage contract.”

On the threshold, Guy turned to Violet.

“I think that, as we are now betrothed, we could put formalities aside”, he suggested softly.

Violet nodded.

“Yes, you’re right… Guy.”

“Well then. See you soon, Violet”, the knight whispered, feeling unusually thrilled in pronouncing her name. The name of a beautiful flower, he suddenly thought, as beautiful as the one who bore its name.

“See you soon”, the young woman returned. Guy hesitated one moment, then he bent down and touched her lips with a kiss as light as butterfly wings. Violet started in surprise, but didn’t pull back. Guy stood upright again, gave her one of his half-smiles and then exited.

Watching him going down the stairs and then heading for the stables, where he had tied Darkshadow, Violet tried to act casually and joined her hands behind her, even though her heart was beating wildly, not out of fear, but out of thrill.

Though it had caught her by surprise, she had liked the kiss.

OOO

A couple of hours later, in Violet’s workroom, Rebelle welcomed the news with enthusiasm.

“I’m sure Guy will be an excellent husband for you”, she affirmed in the privacy of Violet’s herbal workshop. “Both inside and outside the marriage bed.”

Violet recalled the delicate kiss Guy had given her in taking leave.

“I hope so”, she whispered, then she gazed at her cousin with a knowing expression. “How are things between you and Drastan?”

She saw her blushing and putting on a dreamy face.

“Wonderfully”, Rebelle admitted softly. “I… had no idea how many ways there are in making love: not only lying above or underneath one another, but also sitting, or standing… Yesterday we made it on the table!” she told to her in confidence. Violet, who had experienced only the lying-on-her-back position, was shocked.

“What? But… how?”

Rebelle showed her, clearing part of the table where Violet worked, sitting on it, her legs apart, and pretending she was embracing her betrothed.

“I see”, Violet grumbled, feeling upset. “And I think that sitting is more or less the same?”

“It depends on who’s sitting on the chair”, Rebelle answered giggling. “If ‘tis the woman, then ‘tis like I showed you for the table; it ‘tis the man, the woman sits in his lap”, she took a chair and showed her, pretending to straddle Drastan. “Then you can sit on the floor, or on the bed…”

“Very well, I got it”, Violet interrupted her hastily, even more upset. “Say no more.”

Rebelle didn’t insist, but looked pensively at her cousin.

“I understand if you’re afraid of the marital intimacy because of the bad experience you had”, she considered, talking slowly. “But couldn’t it be that you’re afraid you could like it instead?”

Violet glanced at her, confused.

“What is this supposed to mean? Why should I be afraid to like it? That would be a contradiction…”

“Precisely.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“That you mustn’t let your fear ruin the chance to take pleasure in Guy’s embraces.”

Violet closed her eyes and shook her head.

“You cannot know what it means being covered like a cow by a bull”, she whispered painfully. Rebelle felt a shiver of inexpressible horror.

“You’re right, I cannot know it”, she confirmed in a soft voice. “But I know how things are between me and Drastan. I’m telling you that I’m sure it’ll be likewise between you and Guy. Give him the chance to show you.”

“I have no intention to keep him from exercising his marital rights. After all, I’m going to marry him to give birth to a son who will inherit the title…”

“’Tis not what I mean, Violet!” Rebelle interrupted her lively. “What I mean is that Guy has an excellent reputation between the sheets. You do remember what Annie said, don’t you? I made some enquiries with Drastan, and what he told me confirms it. Therefore I’m sure he’ll give to you the same pleasure Drastan gives to me”, she concluded.

Violet kept silent for a minute.

“Mayhap”, she conceded at length with a sigh, shrugging. “Anyway, I’ll find out soon.”

Once more, she recalled the light kiss she had received from Guy, and a small ray of hope found her way into her soul. But as soon as she noticed it, she chased it away, because she didn’t want to delude herself.

OOO

“What??” Robin bellowed.

It was the following day, and Violet and Rebelle had gone to Locksley where Violet had informed the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon that she was going to marry Guy.

“Have you gone insane?” Robin went on agitatedly, hands on his hips and blazing eyes. Violet was not intimidated and confronted him adopting the same stance.

“Have you a better candidate?” she challenged him.

Surprised by the unexpected question, Robin set his jaw and thought furiously. He couldn’t think of any name. His friends were all either taken or unsuitable for a noblewoman like Violet.

“No”, he admitted at length, defeated. “But, Violet... _Guy_? Seriously?”

“Aye, seriously”, she replied. “A man I know I can trust, unlike... so many others.”

She bit her lip. She almost let Charles’ name slip. She had trusted him, but he had betrayed her trust, treating her like a brood mare.

Rebelle guessed who she was talking about, but neither Robin nor Marian could know.

The Earl of Huntingdon clenched his fists and cast a glance to his wife.

“If Gisborne dares to mistreat you, I’ll slaughter him like a pig”, he threatened in a dull voice. Violet could easily guess how much her childhood friend had wanted to kill Guy after the latter had involuntarily stabbed Marian almost to death, and she couldn’t help but appreciate Robin’s concern about her.

“He won’t”, she assured him.

“I’m sure about it as well”, Rebelle interjected. “If anything, I think he’ll take very good care of her”, she chuckled. “Robin, do you really not see the way he looks at Violet?”

Robin looked bewildered and glanced at his wife for help. Marian rolled her eyes.

“Men!” she cried in a comically exasperated tone. Robin grimaced.

“So tell me, how does he look at her?” he enquired. He was aware he was looking like an idiot, but he didn’t understand, he really didn’t.

“Like you look at Marian!” Rebelle answered in an impatient tone.

Robin’s first impulse was to refuse the warrior maiden’s affirmation, but it was never a brilliant idea to contradict her openly and therefore he gave up.

“I too noticed that”, Marian declared.

Robin turned to stare open mouthed at his wife. Two out of three, he thought. Could they possibly be right?

Watching Violet closely, Robin noticed that her face had taken the colour of Chetwood’s famous red apples, but he couldn’t grasp the reason for it. Her expression however was still belligerent.

Knowing he would never win against these three amazons, Robin rose his hands in a yielding gesture.

“Very well, if you say so... But I’m still thinking ‘tis a bad idea.”

“Only time will tell, I suppose”, Marian concluded wisely. “Congratulations, Violet.”

“Thank you...”

OOO

Three days later, Guy came back, accompanied by Drastan. The rings he that Drewmore made followed the custom and therefore they were similar to Drastan’s and Rebelle’s, reproducing the knot symbolising the marriage bond. Inspired by the ring Violet had given him as a model for the size, and knowing that purple was her favourite colour, Guy had asked for small amethysts to be set into each ring, into the folds of the knot.

Once again, they toasted with Chetwood’s sparkling cider.

“For the second time in just a few days, I am toasting to the wedding of a woman of my family”, William commented. “Exactly one week ago my niece Isabelle, today my daughter Violet. For different reasons, for both of them it came as something unexpected, but I’m pleased with both choices. Here’s to you, Violet and Guy, to your happiness, health and prosperity”, he concluded with the traditional formula. Everybody raised his or her goblet in answer, then they drank.

At this point, Guy removed the rings from his pouch, took the smallest one and showed it to Violet.

“I’ve known you since we were children”, he began. “You were kind to me and Isabella. I always thought you were like sunshine, because I felt as if you brought with you joy and warmth. And when I met you again after all these years, I found again that joy and warmth, but I never thought you would give me the honour of wanting to become my wife. Hence, I’m greatly thrilled to give you this ring today, the symbol of my promise of marriage.”

Violet appreciated his speech, because it didn’t speak of love – which would be inappropriate, as theirs was a marriage of convenience – but it was nonetheless very sweet and her heart swelled. Then she noticed the amethysts set into the knot. She raised her gaze to Guy’s and smiled at him, struck by the consideration he was showing her with this small gift.

Her smile, so joyful and spontaneous, filled Guy’s soul with a kind of warmth he hadn’t believed he would feel again. Without even realising it, he returned it. Violet, dazzled, thought that he had a wonderful smile and that it was really a great shame he didn’t sport it more often.

Guy slipped the ring onto her finger. At this point, Violet took the other one, showing it to him, and began her speech. “When we were children, I admired you because, despite your young age, you took care of your mother and sister with great commitment and seriousness. You seemed to me as solid and reliable as a rock, and today, I still see you this way. I know I can count on you, I can trust you. I couldn’t ask for nothing more, nor wish anything better from my spouse”, she concluded, lowering her eyes to his hand to slip the ring on it.

Guy felt the warmth inside him growing and, for a moment, his sight blurred. _Tears_ , he thought, incredulous. Impossible: he didn’t weep, _never_. He had no memory of having ever wept, except as a little boy when he hurt himself, like falling or running into something.

Violet raised her gaze again and saw Guy’s eyes glistening. Then he blinked and the shine was gone. It had lasted only a moment. Had she imagined it?

With an unexpectedly tender move, Guy raised his hand and placed it on Violet’s cheek, then he lowered his head and brushed her lips in the ritual betrothal kiss. Surprising herself, Violet raised her face to his and returned the kiss with unanticipated warmth. This took Guy’s breath away. He wished badly he could hold her tight and kiss her properly, but with great effort, he restrained himself because they were in the presence of other people, among them his father-in-law-to-be. He couldn’t help but press his lips harder on Violet’s soft mouth for another kiss, before he could detach himself from her.

Rebelle had watched the scene closely and now she couldn’t conceal completely a smirk. She caught Drastan’s gaze and he winked, making sure that William wouldn’t see him. Both he and Rebelle thought that the newly betrothed could claim all they wanted that their marriage was just one of convenience, but the attraction between them was plain even in the eyes of a blind man.


	17. Chapter XVII

Chapter XVII

Chetwood Manor, July 25th, 1194

Mary finished lacing up Violet’s gown and took a step backwards. Violet turned and looked at the maid, who smiled at her encouragingly.

“You’re gorgeous”, Rebelle declared from her chair next to the window, smiling at her in turn.

The dress was in shining mulberry silk, the same colour and softness of pansy petals. The cloth hugged Violet’s upper body, following its curves but with no show-off, and the waistline plunging on the front stylised her rather minute shape, highlighting her slim waist. The sleeves reached just above her elbows, then turned to veils that dropped down to the floor. A belt hugged her hips, embellished with an embroidery in gold thread that replicated on the sleeves. Gold pins and a garland of violets decorated her braided hair.

Shortly, Violet would became Sir Guy of Gisborne’s wife. A knotted stomach had kept her from having breakfast in the morning and she had barely managed to drink a cup of warm milk.

“Thank you”, she murmured in response to her cousin. Rebelle was dressed in an elegant, bright red silken gown instead of her usual men’s attire, though undoubtedly under it she was wearing her breeches.

As usual, the ceremony would take place in the bride’s house, in the presence of the notary who would ratify the wedding in front of the law. Then, the bride and groom, the wedding witnesses, the bride’s father and the only two guests – Robin and Marian – would head for Nottingham, where Bishop Alderic was waiting for them to bless the marriage. Eventually, the wedding banquet would ensue at Nottingham Castle.

Hearing horses approaching, Violet peered out of the window, unsure if she was feeling eager or afraid to see her groom. But it was Robin with Marian on a carriage, elegantly dressed for the occasion. 

Minutes later, a soft knock at the door announced the visitors and Rebelle opened immediately.

Robin had a fake smile plastered on his face as he approached his childhood friend.

“Gosh, Violet, you’re gorgeous”, he commented hugging her. More than she had been at her first wedding, he thought, but he didn’t say it aloud because it would be out of place and even tactless.

“Thank you”, the bride whispered. She then exchanged a hug with Marian, who complimented her in turn for her appearance.

“No ears of wheat?” Marian then asked. It was customary for a bride to wear in her hair a few grain inflorescences as a symbol of fertility.

“Nay”, Violet answered. “This is a marriage decided solely by me, and therefore I wanted only the flowers which name I carry.”

“Sounds correct”, Marian agreed.

Robin didn’t comment. He still didn’t approve of this marriage, fearing it would make his beloved friend unhappy, but Violet had explained her reasons in a clear and firm way and he had understood them. He would keep an eye on Gisborne anyway and, should he hear even just a rumour about the slightest mistreatment at Violet’s expense, Robin would intervene. Ruthlessly, if needed. He would have no hesitation to put Gisborne to the sword.

They exchanged a few more words, then Marian and Robin went downstairs and headed for the hall to wait for the ceremony to begin.

After about ten minutes, from the courtyard came the noise of hooves at a trot. Rebelle, who was closest to the window, turned to look outside and brightened.

“The groom’s here, and his best man too”, she announced, smiling at the sight of her betrothed. Feeling unexpectedly impatient, Violet stepped quickly over to the window and peeped down. She glanced at Guy who was heading for the stables, where Hugh was already waiting to take Darkshadow and Mjolnir in custody. The sheriff was sporting his customary black attire, but instead of the standard jacket, he wore a velvet waistcoat over a silken purple shirt, a colour he had surely chosen to honour his bride.

He was strikingly handsome.

This wasn’t the first time she was thinking it, but this time he struck her particularly and this aroused an odd sensation in her stomach, as butterflies flying aimlessly around in the confined space of her tummy. She held her breath for some moments, then she exhaled it and shrugged. She was surely feeling it only because Guy’s kindness in wearing her colour along with his moved her.

“Mary, go downstairs and then come back to call us when everything’s ready for the ceremony”, Rebelle said. The maid quickly curtseyed and left the chamber.

Rebelle turned again to her cousin and noticed that her cheeks were slightly rosy, easing the pallor that had characterised them so far, but she looked still nervous.

“Are you ready?” she asked her softly.

“Of course I’m not”, Violet grumbled, clenching her hands until her knuckles paled. “But it doesn’t matter.”

“You’ll be fine”, Rebelle repeated for the nth time. She was sure it was true, but she was also aware that it was pointless, because Violet needed to see for herself before she could believe it.

“I hope so”, Violet sighed, struggling to relax her hands. “What will happen is in consequence of my free choice to take Guy as a husband. I’ll have nobody to blame or to thank for it.”

“Yes you have”, Rebelle contradicted her with a roguish grin. “You’ll have to thank _me_ for having suggested you should marry Guy, when you’ll scream in pleasure in his arms.”

Her intention was of course to hearten her cousin and possibly make her smile. However, Violet was too tense to feel amused, or scandalised, therefore she just shrugged. Feeling helpless at cheering up Violet, Rebelle fell silent, and they waited in silence for Mary to come and call them.

When the time came, Rebelle preceded Violet into the hall, where Guy and Drastan stood next to the notary, Harper. William, Marian and Robin were gathered a few paces away.

Unlike the first time, Violet had refused to have her father accompany and _deliver_ her to the groom, but had decided to go to him alone instead, to affirm that she alone, out of her own free will, was giving herself as a wife.

As the maid of honour, Rebelle took her place next to the notary, opposite Drastan. Everybody turned towards the door, and then Jack, Chetwood’s superintendent who this day was acting as the usher, opened the door and signalled Violet to come in. 

Guy straightened to his full height, awaiting his bride’s appearance on the threshold. As soon as he caught sight of her, he felt his heart jumping to his throat. Dazzled, he devoured her with his eyes as she gaited to him. _God, she was so beautiful!_ He thought, thrilled, feeling his throat going dry.

As she advanced, Violet stared at Guy. She was barely breathing as the cloud of butterflies in her stomach performed dizzying acrobatics. She struggled to keep a regular pace, though she was afraid she would begin staggering at any moment.

Finally, she reached her groom, who offered her his arm. She placed one hand on it and together they took the last two steps towards the notary.

Harper read aloud the marriage contract, through which the spouses sealed the reciprocal rights and duties and took up their shared residence in Nottingham Castle. It named also the title of baron, which William was ceding to Guy through his marriage to his daughter. Then, Harper interrogated the spouses about their actual freedom in the choice to bind themselves in the covenant of marriage and both responded positively. At this point, the bride and groom concluded their agreement with a handshake, a custom that – it was said – dated back to the ancient Romans and from which came the figure of speech _ask for the hand_ when a man asked a woman to be his wife, because putting palm against palm was equivalent to an oath.

After the ritual handshake, Guy kept Violet’s hand in his own. Looking his bride in the eye, he lifted it to his lips and, turning it, he brushed the palm with a kiss. The feeling made Violet tremble and she held her breath in surprise. Guy, seeing her upset, addressed her a reassuring smile.

Now they had only to sign the marriage contract. Next to the bride’s and groom’s signatures, the best man and the maid of honour wrote their own. From the secular point of view, Violet of Chetwood and Guy of Gisborne were now husband and wife.

Throughout the short ceremony, Robin hadn’t taken his eyes off Guy. Gisborne looked totally absorbed in his bride and Robin mused that, after all, perhaps Marian and Rebelle were right in saying he was most taken with Violet. Could he possibly be in love with her? Robin couldn’t believe it, because he had thought Gisborne incapable of love for too a long time. However, for his friend’s sake, Robin couldn’t help but hope he was wrong and Guy could instead truly love her.

The newlyweds left the mansion hand in hand. They got on their horses, and Drastan, Rebelle and William did as well, while Marian and Robin got on their carriage, then they headed all for Nottingham, with Chetwood’s peasants bidding their goodbyes. William had left instructions to grant them a generous banquet to celebrate the nuptials and cider galore to toast to the health of the wedding couple. Harper would stay with them.

When the small wedding procession reached Nottingham, they found a cheering crowd welcoming them, lining up at each side of the street up to the tiny church next to the castle. This behaviour surprised Guy, because he didn’t expect it. He hadn’t realised yet that people, after the initial and more than understandable wariness, were slowly beginning to trust him and to appreciate what he was doing to make up for his past misdeeds. The fact that Lady Violet, a much-loved person, had taken him as a husband helped to increase his popularity.

Watching closely the smiling faces surrounding them, Guy felt his heart swelling. Never in his life had he been so welcomed, except in his family, and so far, he hadn’t realised how much he had missed this feeling. He turned to look at his gorgeous bride. She wasn’t smiling, and this distressed him, because he wanted to see her always smiling, and his greatest aspiration was to know he was the cause of her smile. He decided he would at any cost find out how to make her smile, beginning from that very moment.

Once they arrived on the churchyard of St. Ethelbert’s, Guy leapt down from the saddle even before Darkshadow would come to a halt and quickly approached Snowflake. He reached for Violet, thus offering her his help to get off her horse. Pleasantly surprised, Violet smiled at him and lifted her opposite leg over the saddle, then placed her hands on Guy’s shoulders, accepting his offer. Grasping her waist, Guy lifted her from the saddle and placed her gently on the ground, then, taking again her hand, he led her towards the staircase leading to the entrance.

For the occasion the church, as well as the castle, had been decorated with the yellow and black banners of Gisborne and the red and green standards of Chetwood. The sheriff’s guards were aligned and standing on attention, forming an honour alley from the base of the staircase to the doors wide open. Guy and Violet walked along the alley, followed by Rebelle and Drastan, then came William, as Marian and Robin closed the small procession. They all entered the sacred building. The bride and the groom headed for the altar, where the Bishop of Nottingham was waiting for them to bless their wedding rings, thus ratifying the marriage in the Lord’s eyes.

The prelate, dressed up in the solemn vests of his high office, complimented amiably the newlyweds before proceeding with the blessing. The rings were identical to those for the betrothal, except they were made of gold instead of silver. After the ritual exchange, Guy bent to kiss Violet’s lips, once again with extreme gentleness. This time, being at the presence of the bishop, he settled for a quick brush, and Violet felt strangely let down.

After Mass, the small group got again on their horses and carriage to cover the short distance between the church and Nottingham Castle. When they arrived in the yard, Guy helped once again his bride to get off her horse and then he gaited with her up the wide staircase to the doors. Again, the guards were lined up in their honour.

“Welcome to your new house, my lady wife”, Guy said in a soft voice to Violet, turning to look into her eyes. Violet blushed at this very intimate epithet.

“Thank you”, she whispered. She was aware she should add _my lord husband_ , out of courtesy if nothing else, but she couldn’t say the words.

They headed then to the baron’s private dining room, where a wedding banquet had been set. Even if they were only seven people, Guy hadn’t skimped on lavishness and assortment of food. They began with a rich lentil soup with bacon, aromatic herbs and spices, followed by a piglet with a milky sauce, onions and spinach, and then came stewed mutton with mushrooms and carrots. The best French wine from Vaisey’s cellars was served to all dishes. To close the banquet came an apple tart and Chetwood’s sweet cider.

Violet pecked at every course with no enthusiasm. She was tempted to drink a lot, but then she gave it up because getting drunk would be indecorous, and anyway it would serve no purpose in shirking the inevitable, that is, the consummation of marriage. However, she carried on the conversation brilliantly, both with her groom and with the other table companions.

It was late afternoon when the small but rich wedding banquet came to an end. According to the custom, a group of women would come and get the bride to see her to the nuptial chamber. Usually, they were her relatives, friends and ladies of the court, but as both Violet and Guy were motherless, and Guy’s sister was not available, and there was no court at Nottingham Castle, the bride was accompanied by Rebelle, Marian and two maids.

Once in the chamber, the maids were about to help Violet to undress, but she stopped them, stating she didn’t need their help, and asked them to fetch her a towel, an ewer with hot water, a washcloth and a decoction of soapwort to freshen up. A little surprised, the two women curtseyed to their new mistress and left the room, looking for what she had asked.

Violet peeped nervously at the bed. As expectable in the castle of a rich nobleman such Vaisey had been, it reflected the wealth of its owner: it was of precious carved walnut wood, with a mattress of soft wood fluff and sheets of the finest linen, and a dark green velvet coverlet.

Seeing the direction of Violet’s gaze, Rebelle wanted to reassure her once more, but she couldn’t speak freely in front of Marian. She had to think for another solution.

Waiting for the two maidservants to come back, Rebelle and the Countess of Huntingdon helped the bride to take off her gown. They put it carefully away in the trunk at the foot of the bed, where almost all of Violet’s dresses were stored, except for the few that were still in Chetwood, ready to be brought to her in the following days. Then, they helped Violet to undo her intricate braids, taking off the flowers and the jewelled pins and hairpins that had arranged her tresses.

Soon, the two maids returned with the towel, the water, the washcloth and the soapwort, and then retreated, definitively dismissed. Violet took off her camisole and used the foamy decoction to wash, then she rinsed it away using the hot water and dried herself. Finally, she donned her wedding nightgown of purple silken veil, so thin that one could easily catch a glimpse at the curves of her body.

Again, Violet’s gaze turned to the bed, where soon the conjugal act would take place.

“Well, I’m ready”, she said quietly, even if it wasn’t true, as she would never be ready for what was about to happen. Noting she had spoken in a dull tone, Violet turned towards her cousin and her friend and forced a smile on her face. “Thank you for everything”, she said in a dismissing tone.

Marian had noticed Violet’s nervousness, but she ascribed it to the natural anxiety of a woman about to biblically know her husband for the first time, and it didn’t make much difference that Violet had been married before.

“You’ll be fine”, she said, hugging her. “Guy will be a good husband, I’m sure.”

Violet nodded, feigning confidence. Her mind told her as much, but somehow she didn’t manage to convince herself.

“Please go ahead, Marian”, Rebelle said. “I’m coming right after you, but before I need to ask Violet something... private.”

“Of course”, said Marian, a little surprised. With one last smile at the bride, she left.

Rebelle turned toward her cousin and, once more, she tried to reassure her.

“Don’t be afraid, Violet”, she said in an encouraging tone. “Guy is a good man, a man who lost his honourability, but who has been able to retrieve it. ‘Tis not an easy task. He won’t hurt you. Actually, I’m sure it will be quite the opposite.”

Violet sighed. Instinctively she believed her cousin’s words, but her brain kept warning her against deluding herself. However, she didn’t want Rebelle worrying about her, and therefore she forced a smile to her lips.

“Yes, he surely will”, she said, simulating optimism. Rebelle glanced at her sideways, this change in attitude making her suspicious, as there had been no trace of it only moments before. However, at the same time she hoped that the kindness Guy had always showed to Violet, and during this day in particular, had reassured her cousin eventually, at least in part, about what was expecting her tonight.

Impulsively, Rebelle hugged her.

“Don’t be afraid to experience pleasure in your husband’s arms”, she exhorted her. “I bet tomorrow morning at breakfast you’ll be radiant!”

Violet chuckled nervously and nodded, but she didn’t believe it at all. Rebelle kissed her cheek, then left the room and Violet stood alone with her fears.

OOO

Guy watched Violet parting with the company and leaving the room, accompanied by Rebelle, Marian and the two maids. Drastan, who was seated next to him, elbowed him.

“Already looking forward to join your bride, I bet”, he commented in a low voice, teasing him. Guy raise an eyebrow.

“Wouldn’t you, with Rebelle?” he enquired.

“I already tasted her nectar, you know that…”

“And this would make you less impatient?” the groom mocked him. Drastan pretended he had to think about it.

“Actually, no”, he admitted finally, casting a sidelong glance at his betrothed. The thought that, for the first time, they could spend the whole night together made him shiver in a sudden desire. Luckily, the waistcoat he was wearing was long enough to conceal the evidence of his arousal.

He grasped the carafe of wine and filled the gold goblet with the Nottingham insignia in front of his friend, who was now officially the new baron.

“One more toast to the bride’s health”, he urged him, beginning the usual game played in all weddings, to delay the groom and possibly get him drunk.

Guy was well aware of it and very determined to escape it.

“Only one”, he accepted, then he turned toward his father-in-law and raised his cup to him. “Sir William, I drink to your daughter. I renew my promise to take care of her in every way, of her health, her happiness, and her wellness in all respects.”

Robin scowled, but said nothing. He had promised Marian he would behave and he had every intention to keep his word. Besides, he had to admit that Gisborne’s attitude towards his new bride seemed to bode well.

William raised his goblet to answer his son-in-law’s toast.

“Make her happy”, he recommended him. “Love her. Respect her. Nothing else matters to me.”

“I’ll do that”, Guy guaranteed him, taking one sip to sign his words. Then he placed down his glass, planning to stand up and join Violet, but he changed his mind. After all, only a few minutes had passed, and he had to give her time to prepare, get undressed, brush her hair, freshen up, in short, everything he supposed the brides did to prepare for their first wedding night. Therefore, he listened to Drastan’s and William’s chitchat – Robin hardly participated in the conversation, even if he was behaving civilly enough – but turned a deaf ear to the exhortations to drink more, to the point he didn’t finish even the wine his friend and best man had poured him. When he thought a long enough time had passed, he rose and took his leave. Drastan stood up in turn, determined to accompany his friend to the door of his wedding chamber, as was the custom – even if usually there was a throng of friends escorting the groom, with lots of jests and naughty puns – but Guy shook his head.

“See you tomorrow at breakfast”, Drastan told him under his breath. “Try not overdoing, or you’ll walk crooked because of back pain…”, he added with a grin.

Guy furrowed his brow and glared at him, but Drastan just laughed and sat back in his chair. Giving a small bow to Robin and William, Guy then left the hall.

A dark expression on his face, Robin watched the groom as he walked away. The Earl of Huntingdon was tempted to rise and follow him to tell him what he was planning to do to him if he would dare to mistreat Violet in any way, but this meant breaking his promise to Marian to behave civilly. Thus, Robin clenched his fists under the table and remained where he was.

Guy left the hall, then took the stairs and got to the first floor. As he approached Violet’s bedchamber, he felt his emotions grow more and more. Soon his bride would be in his arms, he would kiss her – for the first time with the passion and sensuality of a lover – and caress her, then he would lead her gently to the bed where they would become one flesh, giving and receiving pleasure. Picturing the conjugal act they would soon share, Guy felt his throat going dry as an odd feeling squeezed his stomach. Amazed, he realised he had never felt so thrilled at the thought of making love to a woman, not even his first time, many years ago in France, because the maid to whom he had lost his virginity had taken him by surprise, slipping into his bed at night with no prior warning.

He paused in front of her door, his heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed hard, trying to compose himself, and finally he knocked.

“Come in”, he heard Violet’s voice and he entered.

Violet was sitting in front of the empty fireplace. A tray with a carafe and two goblets stood on the small table between her chair and the other one.

Seeing him coming in, Violet rose. She stood rigidly, her hands clasped in front of her.

“It didn’t take you long”, she commented in a toneless voice.

Guy closed the door behind him before answering her.

“I didn’t allow anyone to delay me, nor making me drink too much”, he said. “I don’t want to ruin our first wedding night showing up drunk.”

“Thank you, I appreciate it”, Violet declared. She meant it: Charles had been tipsy, and the smell of wine in his breath had made her sick. However, her apprehension didn’t lessen.

Guy advanced in the room, looking at his bride. Violet was wrapped in a soft silken nightgown, so transparent it revealed every lovely curve. The dark shadows of her areolas and in the pubic area drew his gaze irresistibly. Soon the beautiful body he was guessing under the impalpable cloth would be entirely unveiled for his eyes. The thought inevitably aroused him and his virility began to get restless in his breeches.

Seeing his scorching glance, Violet stiffed her shoulders and clasped her hands even harder. Guy noticed it at once and realised she was terrified. Perplexed, he wondered why: she had already been married, so why was she nervous like a virgin? He halted at a certain distance, thinking about what he could tell her to reassure her.

“I won’t hurt you, Violet”, he said in a soft voice. “I could never do it.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, then she looked at him again.

“I know”, she whispered, but the fear hadn’t disappeared from her gaze, Guy observed. He decided to change his approach.

“I promised you that you can trust me”, he reminded her gently. “This means I won’t force you into doing anything you don’t want to do. This means also that you can tell me anything. _Anything_. Even what worries you so much right now. Tell me what you’re scared of, I beg you.”

Throughout his speech, he had kept his eyes steadily into hers, determined to make her understand he was completely honest. It was their wedding night, but it was apparent that something about the thought of lying with him terrified her or, even worse, disgusted her. However, she had declared she wanted to have children with him to make sure that the title of the barony stayed with her family. He was confused and truly wanted to understand.

He saw her relaxing her shoulders and thought it was a small step forward.

Actually, Violet felt a little reassured, as she couldn’t believe that Guy would talk to her in such a gentle way and then jump her like an animal.

“You’re kind to worry about me”, she murmured. “But you don’t need to. I’m just nervous because… as you can guess, I’ve been only with my husband and the idea of being with another man… troubles me.”

Guy hadn’t taken his gaze off hers. The explanation sounded plausible, yet his instinct told him there was more.

“Let’s sit and drink together”, he invited her, and he smirked at Violet’s surprised face. “There’s no hurry. We have the whole night, and all the nights coming after this.”

Violet sat again next to the small table. As Guy took his seat on the other side, she poured the drinks from the silver jug. Guy detected her shaking hands and he realised that that had been the reason why she had kept them clasped so far. In taking the goblet she was handing him, he made sure not to brush her fingers as not to upset her more.

They took a draught of the sweet cider Violet had asked for, then Guy put his cup down and rested his hands on the supports of his chair.

“You’re not telling me everything, Violet”, he observed quietly. “I trusted you enough to reveal you my blackest secrets. Won’t you trust me as much?”

“I…” Violet stuttered, taken aback by his perspicacity. Guy saw her lowering her gaze, as if ashamed. “I _do_ trust you, Guy”, she assured him in a soft voice. “But I also feel greatly embarrassed to speak about… this”, she took a deep breath and looked at him again. “However, I understand that, should I not tell you, there would be a shadow between us and this is the last thing I want. As you said, there should be no secrets, between spouses.”

She took another sip of the cider, then she placed her glass next to Guy’s. She kept silent for a minute, trying to find the best way to tell things. Finding none, she opted, as it was her habit, for the simplest way, that is, the straight one.

“The idea of lying with a man disgusts me”, she therefore said, painfully. “Because my former husband was brutal, with me”, seeing Guy flinching, she hastily explained. “Oh, not in public, quite the opposite, as in front of everyone he was courteous and caring, but in the bedchamber, he behaved horribly. He… covered me like a stallion covers a mare. His sole intent was to get me pregnant and, in doing so, he didn’t care if he hurt me. When I tried to protest, he beat me, so I never dared to speak again”, she paused briefly, then she went on somewhat easier. “As he wasn’t able to impregnate me, he turned to other women, but apparently he was barren because none was able to conceive”, she took a trembling breath and concluded. “You’re the only man I know who inspires me enough trust to make the idea of doing my conjugal duty tolerable, but despite this, I cannot stop feeling terrified.”

Guy had clasped his hands around the armrests of his chairs so hard, his knuckles had gone white, distraught about what Violet had told him. What a bastard! Should he still be alive, he would go for Charles of Roganton and kill him with his own hands. How had he dared to treat Violet this way, his wife, the woman who, in front of God and men, he had vowed to protect and cherish?

“You’re my bride, not a mare!” he cried through clenched teeth. “I will treat you with the highest respect, both inside and outside the bed, you have my word!”

His vehemence barely concealed a deep wrath and it struck Violet. Did Guy really care for her so much that he felt outraged at the treatment she had suffered from her first husband…? 

She studied his expression, a mixture of anger, consternation and something else she wasn’t able to define. Slowly, she nodded.

“I know”, she whispered. No use in postponing the inevitable, she told herself, which anyway didn’t look so terrible now, after Guy’s reassurances. She rose and held her hand out to him in an inviting gesture.

Guy didn’t move. One of Violet’s phrases had continued echoing in his mind, precisely the one in which she had declared he was the only one with whom she thought doing her conjugal duty was tolerable.

 _Tolerable_? _Duty_?

He didn’t want it to be _tolerable_ for her, he wanted it to be _desirable_ for her. And that she wouldn’t think of it as a _duty_ , but as a _pleasure_. He wanted her to feel for him the same desire he felt for her. He wanted her to loop her arms around his neck, holding him tight, sighing into his mouth as he kissed her, moaning in pleasure as he touched her intimately, circling his waist with her legs as he sank inside of her, screaming his name as she reached bliss along with him…

He rose and took the hand she was holding out to him. He wanted to pull her close to him, to explore her soft body with his fingers, to taste her feminine sweetness with his tongue. He had every right, as her husband. However, he didn’t want to exercise a right, but to share a mutual desire. Unfortunately, it was apparent that she didn’t feel any desire, that she was only willing to accomplish a duty.

This wasn’t the way he wanted to have her.

He would wait.

“You will be my wife in every way only when you’ll desire it as much as I do”, he murmured. Violet’s jaw literally dropped.

“W… what?” she stammered, completely stunned.

He nodded to emphasise his words. 

“Only when you too want it”, he repeated, even though those words costed him dearly. He dropped his gaze on Violet’s lips, which had parted in an absolutely adorable astonished expression which had his stomach knotted up, more out of tenderness rather than yearning. “One kiss”, he whispered hoarsely. “Tonight, just one kiss…”

He pulled her slowly to him and Violet placed her free hand on his chest. If she would resist, he would let her immediately go. Instead, she lifted her face to his. Guy closed his arms about her waist and stooped slightly. He brushed her lips with his in a chaste kiss like the ones he had given her earlier, and she returned it. Thus, he parted his lips and caressed the joining of hers with the tip of his tongue, asking for admittance. After a moment of hesitation, she granted her permission. Slowly, he slid his tongue between her lips, exploring her mouth, searching for her tongue to engage in a sweet and sensual dance.

Violet had never been kissed like this. Charles never kissed her in private, and even in public, the few times it had occurred, he did it only in a formal way. The sensation was overwhelming and it made her heart race. When she had felt the tip of Guy’s tongue caressing her lips, she had responded in a completely instinctive way, parting them, but when she felt his tongue brushing hers, her knees grew weak and she had to hold on to him as to not collapse into his arms. Her breathing quickened, and behind the dark screen of her eyelids, she glimpsed shining trails as if shooting stars were falling. Shyly, she tried to reciprocate these exciting caresses, and when Guy withdrew his tongue, she followed it with hers, reluctant to break the kiss. He indulged her mute request, going back at kissing her fervently. Violet began feeling a great heat spreading in her stomach and lower, between her thighs, as strange shivers shot through her depths. 

Guy’s head was spinning. He hadn’t hoped in such a ready and passionate response from Violet. The initial hesitation had been surely due to surprise, or to inexperience – he wouldn’t be surprised to learn no one had ever kissed her like this, given the way her first husband had treated her – but very apparently she was liking it. His manhood reacted vigorously, swelling in his breeches until it ached. He pulled Violet closer to him, pressing her against his body, softness against hardness, and the desire to make her his became urgent.

Realising he was losing his control, Guy stiffened. He forced himself to remove his hands and lips from Violet and he drew back, doing his best to move gently, even if firmly. He dug his fingernails into his palms to master the longing that was devouring him and took a step backwards. 

Violet’s eyes, hazy and lost, almost made him change his mind. He was sure he had been able to stir desire in her, hence at this point it wouldn’t take much to convince her giving herself to him. However, it wouldn’t be a conscious choice from Violet’s part, while this was exactly what he wanted: her awareness in desiring him, genuinely yearning for him, not just lured at it by his enticements.

“You’re the most desirable bride I would wish”, he said in a low voice. “But I won’t take you, not tonight. I’ll wait for you until you want it truly”, then he took another step backwards. “Good night, my blossom.”

Already moved by his willingness not to impose his marital rights on her, Violet felt her eyes dampening in hearing this tender epithet.

Then, she a detail struck her.

“But… if you go away now, everyone will realise that the marriage has not been consummated…” she observed quite embarrassed. Guy shrugged.

“I’ve never cared about appearances”, he stated. “And I won’t begin now”, but noticing her distressed glance, he added. “However, if it bothers you, I’ll sleep here. I need just a blanket and a pillow, as I’m used to sleep in much more uncomfortable places than a stone floor.”

Violet couldn’t help but feeling guilty and lowered her gaze.

“This surely wasn’t the way you were planning to spend you first wedding night, was it?” she whispered. Guy wanted to take her into his arms to reassure her, but he wasn’t sure he would have again the strength to leave her. Thus, he just brushed her hand tenderly.

“No, but ‘tis alright”, he declared. Violet nodded, accepting his reassurance. However, the thought he was going to sleep on the floor troubled her greatly. She looked at the large double bed.

“I think ‘tis wide enough to allow us both sleeping in it”, she said, pointing at it. “Don’t you agree?”

Guy too looked at the massive bed with the carved headboard.

“Yes, sure”, he admitted. “But I cannot guarantee that, having you so near, I could to keep my resolution. I’d better sleep on the floor”, he concluded.

Violet understood his reasons and she nodded again. She crossed the room to the trunk under the window, opened it and bent over. Guy immediately looked away, because the transparent cloth of her nightgown revealed brazenly her lovely rear curves.

Completely unaware of the turbulent reaction she was stirring in her husband, Violet straightened and returned to him carrying a blanket. Guy took it and spread it on the floor, as far as possible from the wedding bed. Meanwhile, Violet picked up a pillow from the bed and brought it to him.

“Good night”, she said clumsily.

“Good night”, Guy replied, trying to relieve the awkwardness of this moment with a tiny smile. Heartened, Violet returned it and turned to go to bed. On the way to it, she blew out the candles, leaving one for Guy, then she slipped between the sheets of fine linen and blew out the candle on her nightstand. Guy grabbed the holder where the last candle was burning and placed it next to his makeshift pallet, then he sat on the blanket and took off his boots. He removed his purple waistcoat and, as the room was warm enough, his shirt, too.

He didn’t see that Violet was watching him from the bed. He blew off his candle and lay down, preparing to sleep as best he could.

Violet stayed awake for some time, picturing Guy in her mind’s eye, shirtless like she had seen him, as an odd sensation made the depths of her body tingle.


	18. Chapter XVIII

Chapter XVIII

Nottingham, July 26, 1194

When Violet awakened on the next morning, there was no trace of Guy in the room. He had folded the blanket and placed it on a chair with the pillow on top. She rose and crossed the chamber to open the shutters. The sun was shining, still low on the horizon. The window opened on the inner courtyard, where several servants were passing, minding their tasks.

Hearing a knock on the door, Violet withdrew from the windowsill.

“Who’s there?” she asked.

“I’m Rebelle”, she heard her cousin’s voice.

“Coming!” Violet cried. She hastily looked for her houserobe, donned it and, still barefoot, ran at the door to open it. 

Rebelle was back to her usual male outfit. Coming in, she watched her cousin closely.

“Everything’s alright?” she enquired in a low voice. Violet nodded, closing the door, then she walked back to the bed to look for her house shoes.

“Well?” Rebelle urged her, still anxious. “How did Guy behave?”

Violet turned to her cousin.

“He was very understanding”, she answered softly. Her words reassured Rebelle, but she noticed Violet wasn’t smiling and this confused her, as a pleased bride would bear a dreamy and satisfied expression.

“Understanding?” she repeated, uncertain. “You mean that he was kind and gave you pleasure?”

“He was more than kind”, Violet affirmed. Rebelle wrinkled her forehead and crossed her arms on her chest.

“What are you not telling me?” she queried. Violet considered keeping to herself that Guy hadn’t imposed on her the consummation of the marriage, but her cousin deserved the truth.

“Promise me you won’t tell anyone”, she therefore said. “Not even Drastan”, seeing Rebelle about to protest, she repeated more forcefully. “ _Not even Drastan_! Otherwise, I’ll say no more.”

Rebelle realised the thing was very serious.

“I promise”, she said with a nod.

“Guy guessed something was wrong and asked me to be honest with him”, Violet told her, speaking in a low voice. “Thus, I told him everything about how Charles behaved in bed with me. For this reason, he… didn’t touch me. He said he would wait for me desiring it as much as he does”, she concluded all in one breath.

Rebelle was speechless and her jaw almost dropped to the floor.

“He didn’t touch you?” she repeated, shocked. Guy’s respect for Violet was much higher than she had anticipated.

“Well, almost”, Violet corrected herself, recalling the kiss they had exchanged. “He kissed me in a very… intense way”, she told her. Rebelle noticed she was now bearing a rapt expression and concealed a grin.

“Did you like it?” she asked.

“Oh yes, very much”, Violet admitted.

“And… what did you feel? Your heart pounding hard? You felt hot? Tingling here?” Rebelle urged her, pointing to the lower part of her belly. Violet blinked.

“Um… aye, exactly. Everything you said”, she whispered. This time, Rebelle didn’t hide her smile.

“’Tis called _desire_ ”, she informed her. “Guy made you wanting to make love with him, but you couldn’t know it. Trust me and, next time, let yourself go!” she shook her head. “I cannot believe that, having you so excited, Guy hasn’t finished the _task_ …”

“Mayhap he didn’t realise it…”

“A man of his reputation? _Of course_ he realised it!” Rebelle countered her. “Mayhap he didn’t want to take advantage of your inexperience”, she nodded with sudden conviction. “Aye, it has to be that, because he told you he would wait until you’ll want it as much as him, and this implies that you must _know_ what you want.”

Violet was silent, pondering.

“Wanting his flesh entering mine?” she murmured in a marvelled tone, and the thought, instead of disgusting or frightening her like when it was referred to Charles, made her feminine depths tingle, a sensation she had never felt before.

“Exactly”, Rebelle confirmed. “How do you find the idea? Revolting or… attractive?”

Violet looked at her, her expression confused.

“I don’t know if I find it attractive”, she answered in an undertone. “But… I don’t find it revolting anymore.”

“Excellent! ‘Tis certainly one step forwards”, Rebelle smiled. “You’ll see, in a little while you’ll find the idea very, very appealing. When it’ll happen, don’t waste any time and invite Guy in your bed!”

Violet blushed, but then thought it was absurd to feel embarrassed with her cousin.

“And did you do so, with Drastan?” she asked, a hint of naughtiness in her voice.

Rebelle grinned.

“Precisely”, she said. “I decided I would go all the way with him when I realised I desired it as much as he did. That’s why I came to you, as I had promised.”

Violet nodded, glad that Rebelle had followed her advice.

“And, in this regard: how did _you_ spend the night?” she enquired, smirking.

“Let’s say I took _shamelessly_ advantage of Drastan’s hospitality”, Rebelle answered with a wink.

“You’ll certainly starving then!” Violet laughed heartedly. “Let me get dressed, so we can have breakfast.”

“I came precisely to take you and have breakfast together. Let me help you…”

Twenty minutes later, the two cousins went downstairs to the private dining room where they found Guy, Drastan and William. The three men were standing, apparently waiting for them to join in.

“Oh, here come Nottingham’s two most beautiful women!” Drastan cried, smiling cheerfully to both ladies. “Come, have a seat”, he invited them, pointing to the table laden with food.

Guy approached them and extended his hand to Violet.

“Good morning, my lady wife”, he said in a low voice. He wasn’t smiling, but in his tone was a tender note that touched her heart. She took his hand.

“Good morning to you, my lord husband”, she answered in an equal low voice.

Guy led her to the head of the table, where he sat after having her seated to his right. To his left sat William as the guest of honour, with Rebelle next to him, and Drastan took his seat across of the warrior maiden.

Fred, the head of the household, had stood discretely at a distance so far. Now he came to the table and bowed to the lord and lady of the manor, then he signalled to the other servants, who began to bring in trays full of good things.

“Not knowing the Baroness’ preferences, Joanna, our cook, prepared a little bit of everything”, Fred explained. “Bread, cheese, salted beef, smoked salmon, eggs, wine, water, stout beer, ale, fruit.”

“Very kind of her”, Violet commented, grateful for the cook’s thoughtfulness. “Usually I have bread, fruit and water, and sometimes cheese or fish.”

“No wine or beer?” Guy asked, signalling to one of the maids to pour him some stout.

“In winter, I like hot cider with the addition of a few spices”, Violet informed him. “I’ll give the recipe to... Joanna, that’s right?”

Guy nodded to confirm.

“Joanna prepares an excellent hot beer”, he informed her. “But I’ll gladly try your spiced cider.”

William was watching closely his daughter and son-in-law, trying to guess if things between them were running well. Their attitude looked a little tense to him, and their conversation forcibly light, but he was sure this was simply due to the fact that, even if they didn’t know each other well, they had shared the deep intimacy of the conjugal act and now it was natural for them to feel a little awkward. All in all, he concluded, it seemed everything was fine. Perhaps they weren’t dripping radiant happiness from every pore like he and his Adèle had been, but they had married out of love, while this was instead a marriage of convenience. The important thing, anyway, was that Guy would keep his word to honour and respect Violet, and William had no reason to doubt it.

At any rate, he noticed that his daughter was enjoying the food, unlike the night before. Reassured, he devoted himself to his smoked salmon.

Rebelle and Drastan kept exchanging glances, but didn’t fail to participate in the conversation. When they finished, they all rose.

“Fred”, Guy called the head of the household. “See to Lady Violet to be introduced to all the staff. From now on, in regard of the conduct of the house, you’ll take orders from her. Any change she might want to make has my approval”, he turned to his wife. “This is because I’m sure you’ll make things only better, as your father told me you did at Chetwood”, he concluded, casting a glance to his father-in-law, who nodded to confirm with a proud smile.

“Your trust in me is flattering”, Violet declared, pleased, giving a smile to her husband, who returned it with a nod, barely curling his lips.

Guy and Drastan took their leave and left the hall, heading for their usual business. Rebelle and William hugged Violet, then left in turn to go back to Chetwood.

Fred was waiting in a corner of the room. Now that the new baroness was alone, he stepped forward.

“My lady, would you like to meet the household at once? I can have them summoned right now.”

“Don’t summon anyone, my good Master Fred”, Violet answered. “I’ll go to them, because this way, besides getting to know them, I can see them at work. Lead on.”

“Very well, my lady. Where do you want to start?” 

“From the kitchen”, Violet decided, “So I can personally thank the cook for breakfast.”

“Joanna is a formidable woman”, Fred commented, starting to walk on Violet’s signal. “She keeps an eye on everything, checks personally the provisions and keeps everyone in line, from the scullery boy to the suppliers. She works here at the castle since she was a child.”

A few minutes later, the new Baroness of Nottingham made her entrance in the kitchen, where they were busy cleaning up from the preparation of the breakfast and the cook was already thinking about lunch. As soon as they saw her coming in, everybody looked at her in amazement and stopped dead to bow or curtsey low.

Joanna recovered quickly from her surprise and stepped forward.

“Welcome, my lady”, she said, talking on everybody’s behalf. “I’m Joanna, the cook. I didn’t expect your inspection, this morning”, she added, slightly nervous, as she remembered Vaisey’s sudden visits, never a pleasant event because he enjoyed finding inexistent faults and flaws, so that he could inflict punishments for his own delight.

Violet sensed her uneasiness.

“’Tis not an inspection”, she therefore reassured her. “Fred told me you manage the kitchen in an exemplary way. I just wanted to meet you and thank you personally for preparing such a varied breakfast, not knowing what I preferred.”

Joanna was not an easy woman to win, but she liked at once Violet’s simplicity and kindness.

“I thought it was a good way of making you start your first day as the Baroness of Nottingham”, she said sincerely.

“You succeeded”, Violet smiled. “Anyway, know that my favourite breakfast is very simple: seasonal fruit and bread, less often cheese or fish, and as a drink water during the warm season and hot spiced cider in winter, of which I’ll give you the recipe.”

“Aye, Fred told me, but I hope you’ll like to try also my hot beer with honey and spices.”

“My husband sang me its prises”, Violet said. The words _my husband_ sounded strange in her ears. “I’ll gladly do so.”

Pleased, Joanna nodded, then she invited the lady of the manor to follow her around the kitchen. While they proceeded, she introduced to her all the workers who, including cooks, scullery boys and girls, and male and female servants, counted a good dozen. Violet didn’t even try and memorise all of their names, aware she would get to know them in time, but she didn’t spare smiles and nods as they respectfully bowed and curtseyed to her.

OOO

“So, do you want to keep me on the hook much longer?” Drastan prodded in a bright tone as, at a fast pace, he was heading with Guy for the armoury. Guy cast him a perplexed glance and Drastan rolled his eyes. “Come on, have I to ask you straightforward how your first wedding night turned out?”

He couldn’t ask him earlier because, when he had come to the hall to break his fast as usual, he had found his friend in Sir William’s company.

He saw Guy setting his jaw.

“Perfect”, came his curt reply. Drastan wrinkled his forehead. If the answer was what he could have expected, not so for the tone, nor the attitude of the new husband. It was apparent he was lying, but what could had possibly gone wrong? Guy was a young and healthy man, and Violet was neither ugly nor deformed. It didn’t seem possible to him that they had had an argument, because their attitude at breakfast, though maybe a little awkward, had looked very friendly. Until a moment ago, Guy had been quiet, but now he was visibly tense. 

Drastan stopped in the middle of the hallway.

“What’s wrong, my friend?” he asked in a low voice.

Guy too stopped, but he didn’t turn. He considered if he should deny that something was wrong, but he thought better of it. The Knight of Greenmere was is best friend, and he owed him his life at least half a dozen times. He could just tell him he didn’t want to talk about it, but Drastan was the only one in the world he could confess something so sensitive like his just started married life, and maybe, with his vast experience about women, he could give Guy some good advice.

Guy turned towards him.

“What I’m going to tell you must remain between the two of us”, he began. “I want your word.”

Drastan straightened to his full height to emphasise what he was about to say.

“You have it”, he vowed.

Guy nodded. He knew he could trust him completely.

“Violet’s first husband abused her”, he said, and saw him wincing. “To the point that now she’s terrified of the conjugal act.”

Drastan was silent, shocked.

“You mean that Roganton took her with no tenderness at all? What a bastard!” he burst, barely not shouting as indignation overwhelmed him.

“That’s it”, Guy confirmed bitterly. “She didn’t refuse me, but I read in her eyes so much fear, that I couldn’t force on her…”

He broke off, but nonetheless Drastan guessed what happened: Guy hadn’t forced on her the consummation of the marriage.

“You did well”, he said. “You showed respect and consideration, she deserves them. And this made you certainly better in her eyes”, he placed one hand on his shoulder. “You’ll win her in time, Guy. Keep showing respect and consideration. The reward will go beyond your wildest dreams, I know from experience”, he concluded. Actually, that was exactly the way he had won Rebelle’s heart and body.

“That’s what I intend to do”, Guy confirmed. “I’ll make her my wife through and through only if and when she’ll want it as much as I do.”

“You’ll need to be very patient.”

“Aye, I know. I’ve never been much of a patient person… However, for her I’m willing to be as much”, he cast a quick glance at his friend. “Do you think it strange?”

“Not at all”, Drastan answered, the hint of a smile across his lips. “It only means that you care about her. Don’t you?”

Guy nodded.

“Yes, I do care a lot about her”, he admitted, “I never cared so much about anyone else before her”, he added in a voice tone Drastan found bizarre, because it sounded amazed. He could have no idea that Guy was comparing the feelings he had had for Marian with those he had now for Violet and that, with a sense of shame, he was realising once more how wrong he had acted towards the former. His protectiveness on Marian had derived solely from jealousy and will of possession, while the protectiveness he felt now on Violet derived from the wish to keep her from any kind of pain or worry. All of a sudden, he realised that Violet’s happiness was more important to him than his own was. It was his mother’s definition of love. This meant he had fallen in love with Violet…? He indulged in this thought for a few moments, but it gave him a too odd, almost frightening sensation, and therefore he hurriedly shoved it aside.

Unaware of the feelings wreaking havoc in his friend’s soul, Drastan resumed speaking.

“I’m glad you found a woman capable of touching your heart as much as Rebelle touched mine”, he declared. “You know, before meeting her I had no idea what having a lovingly partner at your side means, how much warmth there is in the embrace of a woman in love with you, how life looks suddenly more beautiful, fuller, worthier of being lived. I thought it wouldn’t be much different than bedding any girl, and instead, ‘tis far, far better…”

“Violet isn’t in love with me”, Guy interrupted his friend’s praise of love.

“Mayhap not, not now, not yet”, Drastan said with his unshakeable optimism. “However, if you want to win her body, you must before win her heart, and because she isn’t a fool, you need to be always honest. As much as I was with Rebelle.”

Guy pondered his friend’s words.

“I will not try to make her fall for me just in order to seduce her”, he affirmed.

“’Tis not what I meant”, Drastan explained. “Come on, my friend, you already admitted you care for her, so much that you gave up your marital rights, respecting her fear. This tells a lot about what you feel about her.”

“Oh, really? And what would that be?”

Drastan watched his friend closely.

“You mean you don’t know it?” he enquired. Guy shook his head in the negative. “Come on, I can’t believe it”, Drastan said, incredulous. “Not even a hint of an idea?”

Guy pressed his lips together.

“Mayhap”, he said in a low voice. “But I’m not sure.”

“Describe me what you feel when you think of her”, Drastan urged him.

Guy’s gaze blurred.

“I… would give her everything she could want”, he began slowly. “I’d like to make her always smile. I would protect her from any pain, and if she must weep, then I’d be there to wipe her tears away and comfort her. And…” he sighed. “I’d like to feel her arms around my neck, her mouth on mine, her breasts pressed against my chest, and I wish to hear her moaning in pleasure as I make love to her…”

Drastan smiled.

“Old boy, really… Didn’t you grasp it yet that you’re smitten with her?”

“Smitten, you say?” Guy mumbled, and at his perplexed glance, he explained. “I’ve never been in love before. I thought I was with Lady Marian, but I actually wanted her for me because I thought she could make me a better man. Only after having almost killed her, I realised I didn’t love her truly. And I realised also that ‘tis up to me trying to be a better man, doing good where I did evil, in the hope my misdeeds will be forgiven, one day.”

Drastan cast him a piercing look.

“But first thing first, ’tis you who has to forgive yourself”, he observed with unusual calmness.

Guy set his jaw.

“No”, he affirmed in a dull tone. “I’ll never do that, because only this way I can be sure I’ll keep behaving rightly.”

Drastan frowned. “Do you have such little faith in yourself, my friend?”

“What do you mean?”

“That fifteen years ago I met a young man way too serious, even gloomy, but who surely hadn’t an evil soul. As I told you before, ‘twas the sheriff who played you, putting leverage on your ambitions and your dreams. You’re still that young man, you’ve always been, you got just lost. And now that you found yourself again, that you’re that young man again, you’ve got no need to nurture your guilt to act fairly.”

Guy shook his head.

“You cannot blame the sheriff alone”, he said, “I didn’t have to stay at his service, I could’ve asked him to absolve me from my allegiance to him, but instead I chose to stay.”

“I didn’t say you hold no guilt”, Drastan remarked. “Of course you have your share of responsibility, but from what Rebelle told me, Violet had come to strongly suspect you were often acting so that you would purposely fail the most hideous orders you got from Vaisey, or you left a way out, or tarried to the point Robin Hood and his men would intervene in time to thwart your plans. Can you see that the man you once were – before meeting the former sheriff – was still there? That man has never truly gone missing!”

Guy was silent, pondering what his friend had told him.

“I don’t think remorse will ever leave me completely”, he said at length in a low voice.

“Nor could it be differently, in a man with a conscience”, Drastan observed quietly. “And as this demonstrates you _have_ a conscience, you can be sure you’ll keep the right path even without going on at yourself”, he clasped his friend’s shoulder. “I trust you, Guy.”

Guy lifted one corner of his mouth in his typical half smile.

“Thank you, Drastan”, he whispered. “I just have to learn trusting myself.”

“Exactly what I wanted you to see”, Drastan grinned

OOO

They needed the better part of the morning to tour the castle and meet its inhabitants. Besides the cook and the other employees of the kitchen, there were the laundresses, the seamstresses, the weavers, the spinners, the embroiderers, the scribe, the cellarman, the foreman, the baker, the cheesemaker, the carpenters, the masons, the treasurer. Aware that it was usually the lady of the manor’s task to do the accounts, the latter offered to show her the books at once, but she declined, putting it off to another day.

When they reached the chapel, Violet felt greatly disappointed about its apparent state of abandonment, but she wasn’t surprised, as Vaisey notoriously was anything else than pious. Therefore, her first order as the Baroness of Nottingham was to send for carpenters and masons in order to get them fixing the chapel. Afterwards, she would look for a deacon or a monk willing to come and say regularly Mass for those who didn’t want to exit the castle.

The castle’s vegetable garden was well tended, while the flower garden was completely ruined because Vaisey had no use for blossoms and ornamental plants. Therefore, Violet’s second order was to get a few gardeners to fix the trees and the flowerbeds, and create a large enough area for her medicinal herbs.

To Fred’s surprise, Violet insisted on seeing also the places that the lady of the manor usually didn’t deal with, such as the stables, the kennel, the hawk house, the armoury and the forge. However, as it was almost lunchtime, they postponed the visits to the afternoon, and Violet returned to her bedchamber to briefly rest before eating. Half an hour later, the bell announcing the serving of the midday meal rang, thus she headed downstairs for the great hall, where the servants had set up two rows of trestle tables for the guard’s officers and the prominent men of the castle with their families, around twenty people. Guy and Drastan were there already, waiting next to the high table. The sheriff – now Baron of Nottingham too – had his eyes set on the entrance, therefore he saw her immediately as she appeared on the threshold. He didn’t smile at her, but his glance lighted up and he addressed her a greeting nod as she approached him.

“My lady wife…” he welcomed her softly. It felt strange hearing someone calling her this way, Violet thought. Charles had called her by name, or _my lady_ , but never _wife_. This word gave her a bizarre feeling, mostly because it didn’t fit the facts, not completely, because she and Guy were husband and wife only on paper, at least for the moment. A bizarre feeling, but sweet, she considered quite surprised.

Guy offered her his hand and she accepted it. They sat side by side, and Drastan took his seat on Violet’s other side.

At this point, everyone else sat in turn and Guy started to signal to the servants to start bringing the food, but that would be up to the lady of the manor, therefore he stopped mid-gesture and looked at his wife, encouraging her with a nod. Violet took the hint and nodded in turn, then she signalled to Fred to proceed. 

As soon as the servants had poured their drinks, Drastan, like the good deputy and the groom’s best man he was, stood up raising his goblet.

“As you know, yesterday Sir Guy and Lady Violet got married”, he began. “As William of Chetwood, Lady Violet’s father, is Vaisey of Nottingham’s next of kin, the title of Baron of Nottingham would be his, but he turned it down. Unfortunately, his son, Sir Jeffrey, fell in the Holy Land fighting at King Richard’s side, therefore the title has now gone to Sir Guy by marriage. Let’s drink to the newlyweds and new Baron and Baroness of Nottingham.” 

He was sure that everybody knew already about the dynastic issues, but as often chatters and gossips didn’t fit the facts and made things bigger than they were, he had believed it appropriate to succinctly clarify how thing precisely were.

After a short pause, Gilbert, the captain of the guards who was attending the meal with his wife and their three children, got to his feet and raised his glass.

“To Lord and Lady Nottingham!” he shouted.

“To Lord and Lady Nottingham!” the bystanders echoed his shout, standing up in turn and toasting. Violet and Guy returned it raising their goblets and everyone took a sip, then sat down again as the servants came with the food.

“Was your morning interesting?” Guy enquired, still speaking in a low voice to his wife.

“Pretty much”, she answered with an enthusiasm that the day before she would never expect to feel. “There’s at least two areas in the castle in need of a drastic and urgent refurbishing, therefore I took the liberty to send for skilled craftsmen to assess the situation. Of course, before proceeding I’ll discuss the expenditures with you and only afterwards you’ll see whether authorising me or not.”

“If you think the expenditures are required, you definitely have my authorisation, as I’m sure you’ll manage everything in an exemplary manner”, he reassured her.

“You don’t even want to know how much it’ll cost?” she enquired, surprised. He flashed her a tiny smile.

“Certainly, but your father told me you weight carefully the expenses, so I’m sure that, if you’re talking about _necessary_ expenses, they _are_ necessary, and I know that you won’t spend more than what’s right. Besides, Vaisey’s personal treasury is well-stocked because he was not only greedy, but stingy, too, and never shelled out a single penny, when he could avoid it”, he speared a slice of beef with his knife and placed it on the wooden platter he was sharing with her. “Anyway, which areas of the castle are we talking about?”

“The chapel and the garden”, Violet answered. “As far as I can say for now, at least, as I haven’t seen everything yet.”

Guy was pensive for a moment, then he nodded:

“Vaisey neglected them both because he didn’t care about any”, he confirmed. “How do you plan to fix them?”

“The chapel needs a few minor masonry works, mainly plaster that has fallen from the walls. Especially, most of the pews must be replaced, as they’re badly scratched or even shattered. And all of the sacred furnishings and the liturgical objects are missing, but for those I’ll ask the monastery of Thurgarton, which could also send us a monk for the celebration of Mass.”

Guy swallowed the piece of meat he was chewing and nodded.

“Very well”, he approved, “And as for the garden?”

“First thing first, we need to get rid of the weeds, then the trees must be trimmed and the flowerbeds reset. I’ll keep at least one half of the area to grow the medicinal herbs I use most, so that I’ll have them at hand and there will be no need to go wandering in meadows and woods to gather them.”

“An activity unfit for the Baroness of Nottingham, anyway”, Guy observed, knitting his brow a little.

“I have no intention to stop using my abilities as a healer just because dynastic issues beyond my control took me to become the Baroness of Nottingham”, Violet declared, softly but firmly. She waited for her husband’s reply with apprehension. Would this detail be a source of disagreement, between them? She very much hoped not.

“I have nothing against it”, Guy reassured her. “I only meant that wandering around in meadows and woods, looking for herbs, is not very safe for a woman alone and even less for a lady of your status, and that in this case you’d be forced to have an escort. Much better if you grow the herbs you need directly here in the castle.”

“Oh” she muttered, as she had given no thought to it. She wasn’t used yet to her new position, and she would need time to get accustomed to it. “I cannot grow them all here, it’d require too much space”, she reasoned. “Therefore, I’ll plant the most used, and should I need some special herb, I’ll ask you for an escort.”

“You don’t need to ask me”, Guy said. “You’re the lady of the manor, you can come and go at you leisure. Just go to Gilbert or to the sergeant in command for that day.”

Violet was well aware that such a freedom of movement was not granted to every woman. At Roganton, for instance, she had always to ask her husband for permission before getting off the walls of the city.

“Thank you”, she therefore said gratefully. “And how was your morning?”

Guy began telling her. Drastan listened to their conversation without interfering, aware that the two spouses had to have the opportunity to deepen the acquaintance of each other’s daily life. He loved and respected them both, and he wished them to get along well and, possibly, to fall in love with each other, as it has happened to him and Rebelle.


	19. Chapter XIX

Chapter XIX

Nottingham, July 28th, 1194

Both the previous night and the one before, Guy had come to Violet’s bedchamber. Both times, they had been sitting together, drinking beer or cider, talking about the daily events, or anecdotes of their lives, or memories of their shared childhood. Then, after a suitable amount of time, Guy had taken his leave to go and sleep in his own bedchamber, as it was common practice, for nobility, that husband and wife would sleep in different rooms.

“Do you miss Isabella?” Violet asked him tonight, after he had been recalling a very sweet moment with his sister and their mother Ghislaine.

“Yes, very much”, Guy admitted with a sigh.

“Why don’t you make someone looking for her?” Violet suggested.

“I wouldn’t know where to begin”, he complained, pressing his lips together.

“Where did her husband come from?”

“Stafford, from the namesake county.”

“Begin from there, then. Send someone you trust to investigate if there’s recent news about Thornton. Mayhap he still lives there, who knows?”

Guy reflected.

“I could send Gilbert”, he said. He was inclined to trust his captain of the guards, who had always shown the right measure between obedience and initiative. It was not by chance that he had come to the position he was holding now for some years.

Violet nodded. “Based on what he learns, you can decide how to proceed: send Isabella a missive, or go visiting her…”

Guy sighed again. “I don’t know what’s best, between the two things. She might have not forgiven me for practically selling her to Thornton. Perhaps she doesn’t want to have anything to do with me.”

“Mayhap”, Violet conceded. “Everything depends on the type of marriage she has. If Thornton has been kind to her, even if she doesn’t love him she could still have an agreeable life and therefore she could not be mad at you. The only thing you can do is asking her.”

Guy pondered it, then he slowly nodded. “Let’s see what we’ll learn, then we’ll decide what to do.”

Violet was struck about him using the plural _we_.

“I’ll be honoured if you ask my opinion”, she murmured. Her husband looked at her, surprised by her hesitant tone, and then he was surprised again, considering how it had felt natural to him asking for her advice.

“We’re married”, he stated, both for her and for himself. “I think ‘tis normal looking for my wife’s counsel.”

“Not all husbands care about their wives’ opinion”, she objected in a low voice. She had no need to tell him she was referring to Charles.

“But I do”, Guy assured her, feeling a tenderness to his heart. Although she was strong and resolute, Violet possessed a sensitive soul and she had suffered badly because of her first husband. He hated him for this, and he hoped he was burning in Hell. 

OOO

The following day, Guy summoned Gilbert and instructed him to seek information about Isabella. Should he trace her, he mustn’t tell her anything, but he should return to report him what he had discovered. By mutual agreement, they decided that the captain of the guards would leave the next day, taking with him two men, as it was never advisable travelling alone, with outlaws and highwaymen lurking on the roads.

Meanwhile, Violet had dropped by to see how the works she had commissioned were progressing. The carpenters had cleared the chapel from the pews, most of them being beyond any possible hope of restoration and would therefore end up as firewood while new would be assembled. The masons had begun scraping off the plaster where it was too damaged to be recovered. The glazier would come by in the afternoon to verify the state of the two stained-glass windows, as one of them had been crashed and the hole roughly patched up with a parchment of poor quality. The gardeners had already taken off most of the weed and even begun trimming the trees and shrubs. Tidying up the flowerbeds would require some time, but soon they would be able to plant late sword lilies, anemones, cornflowers, purple violets, and perform cuttings of roses and geraniums. As for the strictly medicinal herbs, Violet planned to transplant them from her garden at Chetwood.

“My lady Baroness”, Fred called her. Surprised, Violet turned

“Yes?” she encouraged him.

“There’s Ralf’s wife asking for an urgent audience. She says her boy has a high fever…”

Ralf was one of Gilbert’s deputies, a sergeant. He was a good man, married with two children. Violet gathered her skirt and began to walk fast. Fred stopped speaking and hurried after her.

“I hope I’m not disturbing you, my lady”, he went on. “You told me to look for you at once, should someone ask for you for medical reasons.”

“Precisely, Fred, and you did the right thing”, Violet reassured him. She had noted that all the servants in the castle acted with great caution and formality, surely a consequence of the often cruel way Vaisey had treated them. She missed the peaceful, easy way of Chetwood, but she hoped that, in time, the castle’s staff would recognise she was a very different mistress, compared to the old sheriff.

She found Ralf’s wife in the main hall. The woman bore the haunted look of one in an agony of distress and, as soon the baroness approached her, she threw herself at her feet.

“My lady, I beg you, save my boy!” she cried.

“No, no, don’t do this” Violet soothed her, stooping and grasping her arms to make her stand. “Calm down and tell me what’s wrong with your son.”

“Reggie’s been coughing for a couple of days”, the young woman said. “Then yesterday he grew feverish. During the night his nose got runny, and now the fever spiked, he burns, he burns so much…!”

“Did you make him drink?”

“Yeah, I gave him water, he’s very thirsty…”

“You did the right thing. How old is Reggie?”

“He turned eight years last May.”

Good, thought Violet, he wasn’t too young: the younger they were, the more likely they were fragile.

“I’m coming with you to see him”, she decided. “Fred, I need an errand boy, someone with good legs.”

“I’ll send for Lance, he’s smart and runs like a jackrabbit.”

Violet nodded, then she turned again to the woman. “What’s your name?”

“Geva, my lady… God bless you!”

“May God bless your boy, helping him to heal”, Violet replied. “But is Reggie home alone, now?”

“No, no, there’s Ema with him, my eldest daughter.”

“Very good”, the new baroness approved. “As soon as Lance arrives, we’re going to them.”

A few minutes later, a boy about twelve years old came in, a redhead with bright green eyes who introduced himself as Lance. Violet and Geva then left the castle, the errand boy on their heels, and headed for Cornerstone, the area in town where Geva lived. They needed about fifteen minutes at a brisk pace to reach the house. They entered the kitchen, a modest but clean room, and went upstairs, where the bedchambers were located. Reggie was lying on a small bed, his eyes closed and a cloth across his brow. Sitting next to him was a young girl around ten years old, who resembled Geva a lot. Seeing the noblewoman coming in, following her mother, the child sprang up and shied away

“Good morning, Ema”, Violet said in a soft tone, trying to reassure her. “How’s your brother?”

“He burns”, the girl said. “I kept dampening him, but he burns more and more!” she added in a frightened tone.

Violet sat on the edge of the small bed – a simple wooden plank on trestles – and touched Reggie’s blazing cheeks, then she moved aside the cloth to feel his forehead. The truly was burning high.

“I need more light”, she said.

“Ema, a candle”, Geva said. The girl ran out, returning soon enough with a tallow candle in a wooden holder. Violet signalled to Lance, who took the candle and brought it nearer.

“Here”, Violet said, positioning him so that he would light Reggie’s face fully. She bent down and opened his eyelids, noticing that his eyes were very inflamed. She then opened his mouth to examine the insides and caught sight of tiny white spots.

She had already seen these symptoms.

“I think ‘tis measles”, she declared. “We’ll know for sure tomorrow or the day after, when he’ll develop red spots on his face and body. Meanwhile, we must reduce his fever.”

To achieve her goal, she needed herbs. Luckily, she had sent for part of her stock, waiting for her new workroom to be set up in her present abode.

“Lance, go to the castle”, she ordered to the errand boy. “Have somebody taking you to my bedchamber. On the shelf in front of the door there’s a leather bag: bring it to me.”

The boy nodded, showing he had grasped the instructions. He handed her the candleholder and rushed out of the room. Violet gave the candle to Ema, who took it after a brief hesitation.

“Geva, did you get measles?” the baroness enquired.

“Yeah, I was around Reggie’s age. Matilda treated me.”

“Excellent, this means you’re immune. And your husband and Ema?”

“Ralf had, Ema didn’t.”

Violet felt relieved: measles in adulthood are much more dangerous, but if Reggie’s father had them, he too was immune. As for Ema, she would probably get sick, but knowing it in advance, Violet could relieve her symptoms since their first appearance.

“Fine, now I need a basin with cold water”, she instructed Geva. “And two towels too.”

The woman didn’t waste time to ask for the reason and hurried to follow Violets directions.

“You can put down the candle”, Violet told Ema. “Help me disrobing your brother.”

When Geva came back, Violet dipped one of the towels into the cold water and began washing Reggie’s sweaty and hot body, swapping the cloths with Ema’s help, who dipped them and then wrung them out before handing them back to her. Violet had just finished washing the lad and had covered him with a clean sheet when Lance came back with her bag of medicinal herbs. The errand boy had apparently run all the way back and forth and was now out of breath. Violet thanked him warmly and ordered him to drink a glass of water and rest, preparing for possible new errands. Then, she rummaged through her bag. When she found what she was looking for, she went downstairs to the kitchen with Geva. Here, Violet threw a handful of chopped willow bark in a small pot full of cold water and placed it over the fire. She boiled the concoction for a few minutes, then she took it off the fire, covered it and let it infuse for double so long. Eventually she sieved the remedy into a mug and took it upstairs. She knew the system to make an unconscious person swig, massaging the Adam’s apple to activate the swallowing reflex. However, there was always the risk of choking, so she was relieved finding Reggie awake, even if his feverish eyes showed he was in no way better than before.

She sat again on the edge of the small bed.

“Hullo, Reggie”, she greeted him. “I’m Violet and I came to take care of you. ‘Tis nothing serious, you just have to rest and drink a lot. Here you are”, she concluded, offering him the drink. The infusion was still warm, but as she had passed it from one mug to another several times, it wasn’t too hot anymore and the boy could drink it without scalding himself. Reggie looked at her, confused, but didn’t pull back. Violet helped him to drink the febrifuge remedy, then to lie down again. She added dried and powdered mint leaves to the cold water for the cold compresses to increase the feeling of freshness, and then she instructed Ema to soak the towels in it and go on with cooling her brother.

A few minutes later, the boy fell asleep.

“’Tis true, my lady?” Geva asked in a hopeful tone, “’Tis nothing serious?”

Violet weighed the words she was going to use: she had no intention to lie or to give false hopes, but she didn’t want to alarm the family too much, either.

“If ‘tis truly measles, his chances to recover are high”, she therefore answered cautiously. “But we’ll know for sure only within the next couple of days, when the illness will progress. In the meantime, Ema shouldn’t go out because she risks infecting other people. Once we’ll have determined ‘tis actually measles, you must warn all those who came into contact with Reggie in the last four or five days because they’re most likely going to fall ill, if they hadn’t measles before.”

“Good heavens, and how would I know how many they are?” Geva worried, twisting her hands. “Usually Reggie plays with the kids in the neighbourhood…”

“You’ll start from them, and asking them you’ll learn how many more people there could be”, Violet suggested, already beginning to be concerned about how she could fetch enough remedies for a possible epidemic. Besides willow bark, also beech and holly are effective against a fever. Besides, specific food had been singled out as being a good supporting therapy to prevent some complications of this disease, such as diarrhoea, otitis and pneumonia, which in weaker people or in very young children can lead even to death: eggs, butter, carrots, garlic, lettuce and, in other seasons, spinach, cabbage, broccoli, savoy cabbage, dandelion, pumpkin. All of a sudden, Violet realised that being the Baroness of Nottingham could mean a significant advantage, as she had just to issue the suitable orders and a host of people would jump through hoops in order to satisfy her.

“Will I too get sick, my lady?” Ema asked in a frightened tone. Again, Violet chose the truth, expressing it as gently as she could. “’Tis very likely, but don’t worry: knowing it in advance, I can reduce the symptoms and thus the discomfort.”

“But you, my lady?” Geva enquired at this point, “Aren’t you afraid to get sick?”

“I got measles when I was younger than Reggie”, Violet disclosed. “My mother, Lady Adèle, treated me, as she was an excellent healer. I learned from her.”

“Matilda too speaks highly of Lady Adèle”, Geva commented.

“Matilda and my mother often exchanged information, recipes and techniques”, Violet said, trying to distract both mother and daughter from the thought of the illness. “They had great respect for each other.”

She stayed at Geva’s house until almost midday, administering Reggie a second dose of the willow bark concoction. She taught Geva how to prepare more of it, instructing her she should give it to the sick kid every two hours until late into the night. Meanwhile, she sent Lance again to the castle – not running, this time – to fetch a basket with eggs, carrots, garlic and lettuce, as well as a few loaves of bread. When the errand boy came back, she told Geva that, as soon as Reggie would feel hungry, she was to give him an egg, either fried or beaten with a little honey. She could also boil carrots and lettuce, possibly with garlic if the kid liked it, and serve them as a soup with some bread.

“I’ll be back tomorrow in the morning”, she said as she took her leave. “Should the fever spike, send for me at once”, she added.

She returned to the castle with Lance, quite pleased with herself for having provided for the sick child. She expected Ema would develop the first symptoms within a sennight, but intervening promptly, they would be less virulent, and likewise for all those who had been in contact with the kid in the previous days. The disease wasn’t too serious, but it could bring significant complications with it, therefore it was better to contain it and to isolate the potentially exposed people, whom Geva would point out to her. 

During the midday meal, she talked about the situation with Guy and Drastan. Guy remembered an unpleasant episode occurred the year before, when Vaisey had ordered the test of a poison he could use as a weapon and pretended it was a pestilence, locking up an entire area in town using barricades. Luckily, Robin and Marian had unmasked the sheriff and his minion, and Djaq had managed to save most of the poisoned people.

Violet saw him darkening and guessed he was concerned at the prospect of an epidemic.

“You have no need to worry about the contagion”, she reassured him. “We just need to isolate those who have been in contact with Reggie, and those in contact with those ones, and we’ll easily manage to contain it.”

Guy’s gloomy stare cleared at once.

“That’s a good thing, but I was actually recalling a nasty incident from last year”, he explained. He told her and learned she knew about it. That was to be expected, given her friendship with Robin and Marian.

“Nasty business indeed”, Drastan commented, who instead was hearing about it for the first time. “Good thing it ended well, or almost well.”

“This time I don’t expect any deaths”, Violet said. “Although you can never tell, as if there are especially fragile people, such as very young children or old people, or physically debilitated people, ‘tis still possible that they don’t make it, despite the treatments. I’ll do whatever I can.”

“What about send for Matilda, so you can get some extra help?” Guy suggested, not without a certain amount of hesitation, because right after the poisoning episode, the sheriff had accused the healer of being a witch and Guy had of course been forced to assist him in the execution of the sentence she had been condemned to. Luckily, once more Robin’s intervention had saved the day.

“She’d be a great help”, Violet considered. “After the news of Vaisey’s death, she moved back to her previous abode in the forest, together with Rosa and Alice”, she added, referring to Matilda’s daughter and granddaughter.

“I’ll take care of it”, Drastan offered. “Just explain me where she dwells. Then, with your leave, I’ll pay a visit to Rebelle.”

“Of course”, Guy said. “This afternoon I can do without you.”

After Drastan had taken his leave to go to Matilda and then to Chetwood, Violet thought about something.

“Good that Rivendale is close to Nottingham”, she considered, “After the wedding, Drastan won’t have to go a long way back and forth.”

The chosen wedding date was in mid-September, and the tidying up of Rebelle’s family mansion was almost done.

“Good indeed”, Guy commented, nodding. “However, I’ll keep his bedchamber here at the castle for him, so should he work until late, Rebelle can come here.”

“Good idea”, Violet approved smiling. Guy thought that seeing her smiling made him feel truly good.

OOO

The fear for infections was always great, even if it was about relatively harmless diseases such as measles, and therefore there was always a chance for riots. For this reason, as a precaution Guy instructed the guards to patrol the streets where infected people dwelt, so that they would keep watch and promptly intervene, should necessity arise. As they needed as many men as they could have, Gilbert’s task to go looking for Isabella or news about her was postponed.

Matilda came gladly to help Violet treating the people that caught measles. With the precautions the baroness had taken, the contagion was limited to a dozen of cases, the most serious being an adult man who caught also dysentery but, thanks to the treatments of the two healers and to his stout build, fortunately he recovered in a fortnight.

After the epidemic was over, Violet perceived that the castle servants’ behaviour had changed. They were still very respectful, but they were no longer as afraid as they had previously been, when it looked as if they were walking on eggshells in her presence. She felt very pleased.

That evening too, Guy headed for Violet’s bedchamber. He had never failed to go, not even during the days, shortly after the wedding, she had had her moon cycle and therefore, should he desert her bed, no one would wonder about it. However, he liked this moment of the day, when he could chat with his wife in peace, very much. It was a very intimate moment of their unusual conjugal reality, if not for their bodies, certainly for their souls, and he wouldn’t give it up willingly for any reason whatsoever.

As usual, he knocked and, hearing his wife’s voice inviting him in, he entered. Violet was sitting next to the window where, using the light of the setting sun, she was sewing a new shirt for him, in a fine linen fabric, of course black. This was a difficult colour to obtain and the cloths thus dyed faded quickly by washing, therefore Guy was forced to a rather frequent replacement of his clothes, with its related costs. But now that he had become sheriff and then even Baron of Nottingham, this wasn’t a problem anymore. As soon as he came in, Violet put aside the almost finished garment and rose to welcome him.

As Guy took his seat, Violet poured their drinks – this evening she had chosen sweet cider – and then sat down next to him.

“Now that the epidemic crisis is over, I’ll tell Gilbert to go and look for Isabella”, Guy announced.

“Excellent”, Violet approved, sipping at her cider. “I hope he’ll find her, or at least news about her.”

“I too hope that”, Guy sighed. “I’d truly like to see her again, though I really don’t know how she’ll react, in case I show up.”

The uncertainty in the black-clad knight’s voice and behaviour was extremely unusual, if not unheard of, and Violet felt struck. It was plain that Guy cared very much for his sister and that he feared her possible rejection, although he was aware he perhaps deserved it. He hoped fervently that Thornton was a good husband and that therefore Isabella had no reasons of resentment towards her brother.

“Let’s wait and see”, Violet exhorted him. He nodded, taking another sip from the goblet, his brow wrinkled.

In the hope to distract her husband from his obvious concern about his sister, Violet decided to try and change the subject, finishing one about which they had talked as they dined.

“About the garden…” she began. Guy looked at her, waiting, so she went on. “They’ve almost done with the fixing, so I was thinking that I could go to Chetwood tomorrow and fetch the herbs I can transplant here. And as within one week the chapel will be ready, I could also go to Thurgarton to ask for some sacred furnishings and hire a monk to come and say Mass here at the castle.”

Guy felt grateful to his wife because she was giving him something else to think about, so he promptly dedicated himself to it. An idea struck him, but before expressing it, he sipped at his cider again, taking a few moments to think it over.

“What about me coming with you?” he asked. It would be a way to be together alone, at least while riding from one place to the other, without the almost constant presence of servants or collaborators, and he wished badly to savour more moments face to face with his wife, besides in the evenings in her bedchamber, where very different things should take place instead of chitchats and he had, in consequence, to strictly keep that insistent thought at bay. 

His unexpected suggestion pleased Violet.

“Gladly”, she accepted therefore promptly.

“But tomorrow I cannot”, he warned her. “Do you mind if we go the day after tomorrow?”

“’Tis alright, it makes no difference.”

“Very well, I’ll arrange things in my absence, so Drastan can replace me.”

They continued their conversation on a light tone, and slowly Guy cheered up, driving the thought of Isabella to the back of his mind. It would be what it would be. She could forgive him or not, in both cases he would accept it, as part of the redemption process he had started by agreeing to become the pro tempore sheriff and beginning to make amends for his past misdeeds. Discovering he hadn’t killed Marian had encouraged him, and also Violet choosing him as her husband. Now it was about time for him to make things right with another woman of his life, whatever happened.

At last, Guy took his leave. He brushed his wife’s cheek with a very chaste kiss – he wisely avoided kissing her like the first wedding night, as not to push his luck – and left the chamber, carefully putting on a satisfied face to the benefit of the inevitable observers, although instead he was feeling frustrated. But under no circumstances he would let his frustration seizing control, inducing him to force Violet. She wouldn’t refuse, about this she had been clear, but the more time passed, the more Guy wanted that from her part it wouldn’t be mere acceptance, but desire and participation…


	20. Chapter XX

Chapter XX

Nottingham, August 25th, 1194

Two days later – a Thursday – Guy and Violet left the castle on their horses, heading for Chetwood. A messenger had informed Sir William about their visit and the reason of it.

“Good morning!” William welcomed them smiling, meeting them for a hug. Being now his son-in-law, Guy too was entitled to this familiar treatment. The new baron returned the hug rather awkwardly, as he had been for too long unaccustomed to such warmness.

They sat down in the hall to exchange a few words, and Rebelle soon joined them. She was disappointed that Drastan hadn’t come along. Guy explained that his deputy couldn’t come because he had to take care of several urgent tasks that Guy hadn’t been able to manage in the view of his absence. However, Drastan planned to come and visit her on Saturday and to stay until Sunday evening, with Sir William’s permission. Rebelle was very pleased and concealed carefully her excitation at the prospect of spending one whole night with Drastan, of course secretly, as since Violet’s and Guy’s wedding, they hadn’t had any chance. Therefore, she was keen to repeat the experience, at least as much as her fiancé. Within three weeks, their nuptials would take place and, at last, they would be together in full lawfulness, no longer needing any subterfuge.

After half an hour spent exchanging news about how things were going in their separate abodes, Violet rose in order to go to her herb garden and look for the plants she wanted to take to Nottingham. Rebelle offered her help and followed her out of the great hall.

Now alone with Guy, William turned to him.

“Well, son, are you a happy husband?” he asked.

For a moment, Guy was dumbstruck in hearing someone calling him _son_ , but the elderly knight, as his father-in-law, had the right to do so.

“Yes, I am”, he answered, sincerely. It was true that he and Violet were not husband and wife yet in the complete meaning of it, but seeing her every day, having her by his side, talking to her and exchanging opinions with her made him feel good. It made him feel _serene_.

“So, Violet is a good wife”, William concluded, content.

“The best I could wish”, Guy asserted. This was maybe a little extreme, as he still lacked a piece of conjugal life to judge the whole set, but somewhere deep in his soul he knew that, when they would get so far, it would be perfect. As for the rest, he was thoroughly satisfied.

“I’m glad to hear you saying this”, William smiled.

Meanwhile, Violet and Rebelle headed for the herbal garden.

“How are things going with Guy?” the younger cousin asked.

“If you’re asking if the marriage has been consummated, then not yet”, Violet answered softly.

Feeling sorry, Rebelle nodded.

“But haven’t you kissed ever again?” she insisted. Violet shook her head.

“No… not in that way, at least”, she confessed, “Goodnight-kisses, on the cheek, nothing more.”

“But don’t you want more kisses of the kind you had the first time?”

Violet didn’t answer immediately, embarrassed, but she couldn’t lie to Rebelle, she never had and wouldn’t start now. She knew Rebelle wasn’t asking just to meddle, but out of true interest and because she wanted for her cousin the same happiness she had found with Drastan.

“Well, yes”, she admitted at length in an undertone.

“And why don’t you tell him, then?”

“I… wouldn’t know how to make him such a request!” Violet cried, her cheeks aflame.

Rebelle chuckled.

“If you don’t manage to tell him in words, tell him in facts”, she suggested, “Next time he kisses you on the cheek, turn your head and kiss him fully on his mouth.”

Picturing the scene in her mind, Violet felt a flutter in her belly – and even lower. How strange.

“I… will think about it”, she said.

On the way out, Violet had asked Mary to send her two people to help her with the herbs she needed, placing them in large baskets and loading them on a cart to be carried our to Nottingham, where the waiting gardeners would plant them in the flowerbeds she had destined to this purpose.

Now, Violet chose the medicinal herbs she knew she could transplant without risking them withering in the process. She made sure that each plant had intact roots into a damp piece of turf and, after placing them into the baskets, she had the servants helping her covering them with wet cloths of jute. Finally, she asked John, the cart driver, to make haste, in order to leave the plants out of the ground for as little time as possible. Given the nature of the load, John had expected her request and had purposely chosen the two sturdiest and fastest horses, so he could assure that her call would be granted.

William invited them to stay for the midday meal, but the two guests declined, because if they stopped, they would be too late for Thurgarton. In this view, they had brought a picnic lunch with them.

“We’ll do that another time”, his daughter assured him, giving him a goodbye kiss on his bearded cheek. “And we’ll stop for the whole day, alright?”

“Very well then”, the elderly knight nodded, a little disappointed but aware that the reason of their refusal was valid.

Thus, Guy and Violet mounted their respective horses and headed for the monastery.

Along the way, as they rode alternating a light trot with a walk, Violet kept mulling over Rebelle’s words. She wanted to be kissed again by Guy in that thrilling way she had experienced on their first wedding night, but she didn’t dare to ask him openly. However, even the idea to be her the one beginning the kiss, as her cousin had suggested, made her blush in embarrassment.

“You’re silent”, Guy observed after a while. “’Tis something wrong?”

“No, nothing”, Violet denied, and at her husband’s sceptic glance, she lied. “Only cogitations about how arranging my new workroom in Nottingham.”

“You know you are allowed to use every resource in the castle”, her husband reminded her. “Or ask someone to fetch whatever you may need.”

“Aye, and I thank you. Actually, I have a mind for a few improvements over my workroom at Chetwood, beginning from the lighting. Sometimes I need a lot of light.”

“Anything you need”, Guy confirmed.

As the silence was now broken, they resumed chatting as they had done during the journey from Nottingham to Chetwood, until Violet, pointing to the sun glimpsing through the canopy of the foliage, suggested it was time to eat. Guy agreed – actually, his stomach was beginning to feel hunger pangs – so they halted their horses and dismounted. They tied them to a low branch, then Guy spread a blanket at a short distance from the path, as Violet pulled their food out of the saddlebags: bread, cheese, smoked beef, dried fruits and a canteen of red wine.

They shared the food and ate as they kept on chatting.

“Do you know the Prior of Thurgarton, Matthew?” Violet asked her husband.

“No, I never had to deal with him”, he answered.

“He went to the Holy Land with my father and became a monk after their return”, she told him. “He said he’d seen too much blood and too much death, and therefore he decided to retire to a contemplative life, but the organisational skills he gained in the army took him to the election to prior when the former died.”

“So you’re good acquainted with him?” at his wife’s affirmative nod, Guy concluded. “That’s why you preferred to ask a monk from his monastery for the castle’s chapel, instead asking Bishop Alderic.”

“Precisely”, she confirmed. “Prior Matthew is well aware that I don’t like the _all sin and reproach_ type of priest and therefore he’ll choose a suitable monk.”

From the frown she was holding as she said this, Guy guessed that in the past Violet had to deal with some too rigid cleric and had no wish to repeat the experience. As for him, he was rather indifferent to ecclesiastics, unless they wanted to meddle with his businesses, and in this case, he didn’t tolerate them at all. His faith was formal, not heartfelt, and for years, he went to Mass only when circumstances made it necessary, such as the great religious holydays and his own wedding, one month ago. 

He took the canteen, which had still a bit wine left. Seeing that Violet’s beaker was empty, he shared whatever remained of the drink with his wife. She thanked him with a smile before drinking, and Guy found himself wishing fervently to be that simple earthenware cup to enjoy the touch of her lips…

He shook off this absurd fantasy and diverted his eyes, but Violet had noticed his glance and now she felt suddenly hot. Slightly inebriated by the wine and his ardent stare, she placed down her empty beaker.

“Guy…” she whispered.

He looked at her again and, seeing her flushed cheeks and her shining eyes, he felt a hot shudder shooting through him.

Attracted to those cerulean irises where a flame was burning, the meaning of it still unfamiliar to her, however terribly exciting, Violet reached for her husband and placed one hand on his chest.

“Guy…” she repeated in an even lower voice. Her slightly husky tone aroused a flutter in Guy’s stomach. Encouraged by his wife’s attitude, he bent over to her. Violet’s gaze dropped to his lips. Noting this, Guy’s heart jumped to his mouth. She wanted him to kiss her!, he realised, dazed. Since the wedding night, he had been waiting for a spontaneous signal, not induced by possible seduction attempts from his part. As the days had passed by, he had felt more and more dejected, but now here she was, inviting him clearly to kiss her.

Or was it just the result of his wish for it?

In doubt, Guy decided to move extremely cautiously. Gently, he grasped Violet’s shoulders and pulled her to him, slowly, giving her all the time and way to withdraw, should she change her mind.

Violet didn’t pull away and, when she was almost leaning into him, she even raised the hand she had placed on his chest to brush his cheek, then his ear, making him shiver.

“Violet…” he murmured with deep passion. From Violet’s lack of reaction, he realised she wasn’t aware of how much he desired her, how much he craved laying her on the blanket, haul up her skirts and plunge inside of her until she would scream in pleasure… Her innocence, combined with the knowledge of how much pain she had endured in the past, in her flesh and in her soul, because of an indifferent, if not brutal husband, helped him to cool off his boiling blood.

He raised his hand in turn and brushed her lips with this thumb. Violet lifted her face to his. Their mouths were now very close, enough to feel each other’s breath. Guy waited another instant, to make sure once more that this was what she really wanted, then he lowered his head and placed his lips on hers.

The kiss started in a chaste way. This time, Violet didn’t wait for him urging her and, after a few moments, she parted her lips, wanting to feel his tongue caressing hers as he had done the first wedding night.

Guy’s breath caught in his throat. He answered her invitation, deepening the kiss with all the tenderness he could muster, afraid he could frighten her. Their tongues interlaced, stroking each other, advancing and retreating, chasing one another to connect again. He dared tightening his hold on her, and Violet raised her other arm, lacing both behind his nape.

The sitting position was quite uncomfortable, as both were bowing forward, their legs bent between them and keeping them apart. Guy enclosed Violet in his arms, rose on his knees and then set her down on her back, stretching out beside her. He took care in moving slowly the whole time, so that she would realise that, if she wanted, she could withdraw and stop what they were doing.

Once more, Violet didn’t pull back.

Encouraged, Guy briefly took his lips off hers, only to angle his head to the other side and get to kiss her better. Thrilled, he felt her holding him tighter and so he dared placing one hand on the side of her breast. Violet started slightly, then she relaxed again. At this point, Guy moved his hand to brush the soft mound he was touching in a feather-light caress. Under the thin silk of her gown, he came across the swelling of her hardened nipple and felt a momentary giddiness at this confirmation of Violet’s arousal. She wanted him, but was she aware of it? He didn’t think so. He had to guide her along the paths of desire with patience, step by step, until she would realise that she desired him as much as he desired her.

Violet felt as if she had a fever, hot and breathless. She wanted more, but she had no idea what it was precisely. Between her thighs, she was feeling a heat she had never felt before, as a tingling was running inside of her. Rebelle had told her this were symptoms of desire and had exhorted her to surrender to it. The unpleasant memory of the feeling of Charles’ flesh inside hers surfaced on her mind, disturbing this thrilling moment, and she drove it away with all her willpower. She focussed again on the present feelings, on Guy’s hand pressed against her breast, on his fingers brushing its tip, arousing a bizarre reaction inside of her that connected this apex to her feminine depths, making them quiver harder. She sighed in pleasure.

Guy heard her. Again encouraged, he pulled away from her mouth and placed small kisses on her jaw, under her ear, on the side of her neck, on her throat. He grew bolder as he heard more lovingly sighs and he dropped to her chest, down to the hem of the neckline, where the soft fullness of her breasts swelled up.

Violet felt increasingly hotter. Her heart was hammering inside her chest, her breath was coming faster. Her core was literally aflame. She wanted… heavens, she wanted him touching her right _there_ , where she was burning! Her breath caught in her throat.

She saw Guy lowering his head even more and felt his lips surrounding one hard bud. So far, Violet had had stiff nipples only when she was cold and she didn’t understand how they could be this way now. Then she moaned, as Guy brushed his teeth over her taut nipple and, if earlier the feeling of his fingers had been pleasant, now it was even overwhelming.

The sound of her lament nearly sent Guy into a swoon. His hardness was almost unbearable, coerced into breeches that had become too tight. He desperately wanted to free himself, denude her and take her. Once more, he called himself to order, steeling himself, but as Violet ran her fingers through his hair holding him even tighter against her breasts, his self-control almost shattered.

He froze and, with a tremendous effort, he withdrew and sat up.

“I… I must stop now”, he croaked. “Or it’ll be too late.”

Violet stared at him, her gaze hazy. She moved in turn into a sitting position and opened her mouth to say she didn’t want him to stop, then she saw his almost wild gaze and suddenly she felt frightened. Her willpower was not able to keep in check her hateful memories and they flooded her mind, brutally quenching her desire.

Seeing terror beginning to surface in her eyes, Guy quickly gave her a soothing caress, brushing her cheek.

“You don’t need to be afraid of anything”, he said softly. “I won’t do anything you don’t want me to do, ever.”

Reassured, even if still disquieted, Violet nodded.

“I know”, she said, she too softly.

There was a moment of awkward silence, as none of them knew what to say.

“What…” she began, confused, without really knowing what she wanted to ask. Guy watched her, waiting patiently for her to express herself. “What were we doing?” she asked at length.

As the crucial moment had gone, Guy had calmed down and now he felt touched by her innocent question.

“We were making love”, he answered in a simple way. Violet blinked, clearly perplexed. “But isn’t that the… conjugal act?”

“Sure, but this too is lovemaking”, he nodded. “‘Tis part of what precedes the… let’s say… proper consummation.”

“Oh.”

It was obvious that Violet had never experienced anything like this, Guy realised. He felt once more a burning rage towards Roganton.

“I was under the impression you were finding it agreeable”, he added, in the most delicate way he could think of.

She blushed crimson.

“Aye, it was agreeable”, she confirmed. “Very”, she added, with greater confidence. For goodness sake, Guy was her husband, she had every right to tell him what she liked and what she disliked!

“You have no idea how much this makes me happy”, the black-clad knight murmured. “I hope we’ll do it again soon.”

Violet couldn’t help but smile at that appealing prospect, but then her face darkened.

“But isn’t it too… difficult, for you?” she enquired. “I mean… not going through?”

“Of course ‘tis difficult”, Guy confirmed honestly. “But this time I’ve been caught by surprise, whereas next time I’ll be prepared, and therefore it’ll be less difficult.”

He wasn’t absolutely certain of this, but he couldn’t give up the chance to stir Violet’s desire and push it a little farther, each time more, until she would crave for _fulfilment_ as much as he did.

For now, however, it was better if he walked definitively away from temptation.

“’Tis getting late”, he observed, casting a glance to the position of the sun peeping through the branches. “We should go.”

He stood up and helped his wife doing as much. They stowed away the remaining of the food and the blanket, then they got back on their horses and resumed the path to Thurgarton.

When they reached the monastery one hour later, they knocked at the main door, using the simple iron knocker attached at its centre. Soon enough, a peephole opened, through which they saw two dark eyes with a kind expression.

“Who’s there?” the owner of those eyes enquired.

“Sir… Lord Guy and Lady Violet of Nottingham”, the sheriff declared, still not used to their new title. Once, he pondered in a flash, he would have literally killed just to have Gisborne back, while now he was Robin of Locksley’s equal, becoming it without any bloodshed, and in the process he had even gained an amazing woman like Violet as his wife.

“Welcome”, the gatekeeper friar said. “We were expecting you.”

Violet had in fact sent to the monastery – like to Chetwood – a messenger to herald their visit to the prior. A few moments later, the gate opened and a monk with a dark grey habit appeared, his face ruddy and jovial.

“Come in, come in”, he invited them with a wide gesture of his arm. Guy, who had dismounted to knock at the door, led Darkshadow by the reins, while Violet spurred Snowflake softly on with her heels. Once inside the cloister, she dismounted in turn.

The gatekeeper asked them to wait a moment and moved away, striding surprisingly fast for his size. Soon he was back with two brother friars.

“Brother Ruthan will take care of your horses”, he said, pointing to the younger, a novice judging from the lighter colour of his cassock, sporting also a white border. “Brother Peter will take you to the prior.”

“Thank you”, Violet said, handing her mount’s reins to the novice. Guy did as much and then they followed Brother Peter to the inner part of the monastery. Shortly after, they were showed in to the Father Superior, who rose to meet his important guests.

“My dear Violet!” he cried, moving towards her beaming, “But perhaps I should call you Lady Nottingham…”

“For pity’s sake!” Violet cried in turn, as she had known him since she was a kid. “Unless you want me calling you Reverend Prior…”

The elderly man of the cloth laughed heartily and hugged her, showing that their relationship was very informal. Then, the turned to Guy with a quizzical look.

“My husband”, Violet quickly introduced him. “Lord Guy, Baron of Nottingham. Guy, this is the Reverend Prior Matthew.”

Guy performed a respectful bow, bending his back in the homage due to an ecclesiastic of rank.

“I’m honoured to meet you, Reverend Prior”, he said.

“My pleasure, Lord Nottingham”, Matthew returned, watching him closely. He had never had a chance to meet Gisborne as Vaisey’s minion, but he was aware of his deeds in the latter’s service, as well as of the circumstances that had led him, quite surprisingly, to become first the sheriff of the County, and then even to receive the title of Baron. He had been surprised that Violet would choose such a husband, but he didn’t judge her decision, both because he wasn’t informed of the reasons that had driven her, and because he knew well her spirit and her cleverness.

“Please, take a seat”, he invited them, showing them the stuffed chairs in front of his desk of solid walnut. “Can I get you a drink?”

“The friars here produce an excellent porter beer”, Violet informed Guy as they sat down. “I suggest you a taste of it.”

“Very well”, the sheriff accepted. “Thank you, Prior.”

Matthew signalled to Brother Peter, who had been waiting on the threshold, and the monk nodded before leaving.

“You know the reason of our visit already”, Violet said, turning to the prior. “Can you send us someone to take up the position as the castle’s chaplain? And can you give us the liturgical items I listed in my message?”

“Aye to both”, Matthew confirmed. “I will send the sacred furnishings to the castle tomorrow, and in a few moments I will send for the brother I chose as your chaplain for you to meet him. I’m very glad you and your husband thought about my monastery”, he added, including Guy into the conversation. “The old baron wasn’t... how can I put it... much inclined to spirituality.”

“He wasn’t, indeed”, Guy confirmed. “I must confess, Prior, that neither I am very inclined to it; but Violet is the lady of the castle and expressed her wish to restore and use our chapel, and I’m happy to fulfil her request.”

Matthew looked at Guy in appreciation.

“I thank you for your honesty, Lord Nottingham”, he said. “I much more prefer a man who professes to be not religious but acts honestly over one who goes to Mass every day and then commits liable deeds.”

Guy held the older man’s inquisitive but frank gaze.

“I strive to be part of the first category of men you named”, he declared in a firm tone.

Matthew thought that, if Violet had married Guy in spite of his past bad reputation, his statement had to be genuine.

“I’m sure of this”, he nodded.

At that moment, Brother Peter came back in with a tray, carrying a jug of simple earthenware and three wooden cups. Thurgarton wasn’t one of the richest monasteries of the county, though the monks lived with dignity off their work and the donations of the peasants and the local gentry. Anyway, Matthew had adopted a very simple lifestyle, despite his noble origins.

Brother Peter placed the tray on the desk and poured the beer into the goblets.

“Thank you, Peter”, Matthew said. “Please, summon Tuck for me now.”

The monk nodded and exited again. Matthew took a cup and raised it to his guests. “Here’s to your health.”

“Thank you”, Guy answered, grasping a cup in turn. “To yours, Prior.”

Violet nodded, joining the toast, as she took the third goblet and raised it to the churchman.

They drank. After the second sip, Guy agreed upon the beer being truly excellent and asked the prior if it would be possible to purchase a few barrels. Matthew was very pleased and answered positively. They were agreeing on price and quantity when Tuck came in.

Catching sight of him respectfully waiting on the threshold, Matthew signalled him to enter.

“Lady and Lord Nottingham”, he said in a formal way. “May I introduce Brother Tuck? He too fought in the Holy Land in the Crusade of our good King Richard. He was wounded in one of the first battles and therefore he’s been invalided out. In gratitude to Our Lord who has miraculously saved him from death, Tuck decided to pronounce the vows, which were confirmed six months ago.”

Tuck moved into the room. He was tall and sturdy like one could expect for a soldier. His brown face held a gentle but firm expression, like _I’m a good person but you better don’t make me angry_. He limped noticeably on his left leg, but nevertheless he strode with confidence, helping himself with a heavy staff. Guy guessed that, in case of need, he could use it as a weapon.

“Tuck, these are Lady Violet and Lord Guy, Baroness and Baron of Nottingham”, Matthew completed the introduction.

Tuck bowed his head, showing his respect.

“I’m glad to meet Your Ladyship and Lordship”, he said in a courteous but not obsequious tone. “Prior Matthew did me the honour to give me the office to be your chaplain. I hope my services will be to your liking.” 

Violet appreciated his words and the tone he had pronounced them.

“Nice to meet you, Brother Tuck”, she said. “If my good friend the Prior Matthew has chosen you to be our chaplain, I’m sure you’re meet our expectations. When are you going to start coming?”

“As early as tomorrow morning, Lady Violet.”

Violet turned to her husband. “Is that good for you, Guy?”

“Anything that’s good for you is good for me, my lady wife”, the baron declared. He didn’t smile, but his gaze was warm. Seeing this, Violet felt a fluttering in her stomach, and, without realising it, she returned his gaze with equal warmth.

The prior noticed the exchange and was reassured about Violet’s situation. It actually seemed that the two spouses shared feelings of love that were absolutely not granted, among nobles.

“So ‘tis settled”, he intervened. “There’s over an hour’s ride from here to Nottingham Castle”, he then went on, looking at Guy and Violet. “In case of bad weather, Brother Tuck may not be able to come, or he could be stuck at the castle.”

Violet nodded and spoke directly to the monk. “Should you meet any hindrance, Brother Tuck, we won’t make a big deal out of it”, she assured him. “And in case you should be caught by bad weather while in Nottingham, you can stay as long as needed, even for the night.”

“Thank you, Lady Violet.”

“I warn you he’s got the heartiest of appetites”, Matthew chuckled. Tuck smirked, his pure white teeth flashing between his fleshy lips before he hastily regained his composure. The prior’s observation and the friar’s reaction roused an unexpected feeling of liking in Guy for both of them:. It was apparent that their shared background as soldiers made them different from usual churchmen, whom he usually saw as an annoyance. Recalling where Violet stood about ecclesiastics, he thought that Matthew had made a wise choice. 

According to the custom, Guy and Violet made a generous donation to the monastery, in the form of a pouch full of gold coins, in exchange for Brother Tuck’s services.

Matthew thanked them, then Tuck took his leave and they finished drinking. They then briefly discussed the business transaction about a certain number of the monastery’s beer barrels, and finally Guy and Violet bid goodbye and made their way to Nottingham.

The afternoon was declining toward night, but there were still several hours of daylight left, so they took their time.

“Well, what do you think of Matthew?” Violet asked.

“I like him… for a churchman”, Guy answered. “And Tuck too”, he added, anticipating his wife’s possible second question.

“Glad to hear that”, Violet declared, clearly relieved. He cast her a puzzled glance.

“If I didn’t like Tuck, would you have asked for another chaplain?” he enquired.

“Of course, because I know you’re not enthusiastic about churchmen, therefore I’d have asked Matthew to choose someone else, someone more to your liking. Anyway, if Tuck wasn’t to _my_ liking, I’d have done the same”, Violet concluded with a shrug and a unruly smirk.

Guy chuckled, remembering what she had stated a few hours ago. “You truly have no great affection for ecclesiastics?”

“I have no affection for _anyone_ who sees only the evil in people and not the good too”, Violet clarified firmly. “I don’t like those who speak only about punishment and never about hope, who believe that life has to be only suffering and never joy, who think that beauty is a sin and forget that ‘tis a gift of God as much as everything else”, she shook her head. “I respect the cloth, but if any churchman or churchwoman would behave like this in our house, I’d show them the way out. Kindly, but firmly. With your leave, of course…”

Guy made his typical lopsided smirk, but his eyes were gleaming with amusement.

“Oh, in such a case, you’d have all my support, don’t worry!” he cried, then he turned to look at her. “As you have my support in everything else”, he added in an earnest tone.

Violet felt a lump starting down her throat. Guy’s esteem made her really very happy.

“And for this, I’ll never thank you enough”, she affirmed softly. Guy realised she was thinking back at how she had been treated by her first husband, as she had to ask for his leave for anything she was going to do, except for the strictly womanly matters. Once more, he felt a terrible resentment against the late Baron of Roganton. He nearly wanted him to be still alive to have the chance to gut him in a single combat.

They were now in the neighbourhood of Nottingham and coming out of the forest. Violet, running her glance on the verdant ground in front of them, caught sight of a rich tuft of plantain, which was useful both as a vegetable in cooking – for instance, into omelettes or salads – and as a medicinal herb for its anti-inflammatory and astringent properties, excellent in the form of infusion or concoction to cure cough and phlegm.

“I’d like plucking some of that plant”, she said, pointing at it.

“Go on”, Guy approved, pulling at Darkshadow’s reins. Violet halted Snowflake, then she jumped nimbly off the saddle, but she hadn’t seen a stone hidden in the grass and her right foot landed right over it. She felt an excruciating pain in her ankle and fell with a scream, half in pain, half in surprise.

Guy leaped down his horse and in a flash kneeled next to her.

“Violet!” he cried. “What’s up?”

“My ankle”, she answered, gritting her teeth. “I twisted it. Damn!” she growled in a very unladylike way.

“Let me see”, Guy said, lifting the hem of her skirt. Violet wore knee-high riding boots, fastened with leather strings. He untied them, then he carefully slipped the boot off her foot and felt her ankle.

“Does it hurt much?” he asked, unable to conceal the anxiety in his voice.

“Quite”, she confirmed. She tried to move cautiously the joint, but a pang of pain pierced her and she grimaced. “Sprain”, she grumbled with an exasperated sigh. “What a fool I’ve been…!”

Guy frowned at her-

“No one calls my wife a _fool_ ”, he said in an earnest tone. “Not even my wife.”

He gained a chuckle, and this heartened him, as distracting her had been precisely his intent.

“What can I do?” he asked at this point.

“Help me getting on my horse again”, Violet answered. “I don’t have to walk, therefore, once at the castle, I’m afraid you’ll have to carry me to my bedchamber.”

“This won’t be a problem”, Guy assured her. He put her boot into Snowflake’s saddlebag, then he stooped and helped Violet on her feet. Once she was standing, he scooped her up and carried her to his own horse.

“No need”, Violet protested. “I can ride…”

“I’d rather not have you riding by yourself”, he declared in a tone that invited no argument, lifting her to the warhorse’s back. “Darkshadow won’t even feel the different weight”, he added more gently, mounting behind her. To give her some room, he moved as much as possible backwards, but though the saddle was quite large, it was surely too small for two people, forcing them to a close contact.

He grasped Snowflake’s reins, then he signalled to his charger to move. Obediently, Darkshadow began walking.

“I’m sorry”, Violet said, uneasy about the trouble she was causing.

“About what?” Guy was surprised. “It could happen to anyone, even to me”, his lips curled in his typical crooked smirk. “Actually, it happened to me, twice, once precisely jumping off my horse. Ask Drastan! He was there. My horse bolted, leaving me there in the middle of the path. Drastan had to haul me up on his destrier and then he hiked all the way to Lord Glenford’s mansion. So you see that that was a worse mishap than this…” 

Soothed, Violet relaxed. It was pleasant, she thought, feeling Guy’s arms around her and the heat of his body against her back. Comforting. Reassuring. Without realising it, she leaned back, nestling deeper in her husband’s embrace.

Guy felt like melting. Violet’s behaviour was expressing intimacy and trust. He felt even more protective of her but, because of the close proximity of their bodies, his desire for her ignited. He frowned: how could he think about _that_ , while she was hurting because of her sprained ankle? He felt ashamed and suppressed any thought in that direction.

They needed only twenty minutes before arriving at Nottingham’s gates, and ten more to reach the castle.

“Shall I send for the physician, or Matilda?” Guy asked.

“No, I can handle this myself”, Violet answered. “I’ll just require Sally’s assistance.”

Sally was Joanna’s daughter. The head cook had suggested her as Violet’s personal maid. Sally was a couple of years younger than the baroness and, though she possessed a softer character than her mother, she was equally efficient and capable. Violet had liked her at once, and therefore had hired her.

Guy slid off the saddle and, as the groom was coming to take their horses, he helped his wife down, grasping her around her waist and then scooping her up in his arms. He ordered to send for Sally to the guard that hastily opened the gate for them, then he ascended the staircase leading to the first floor, where their bedchambers were located. In the hallway they met Lance, the boy who had assisted Violet during the measles epidemic The lad neglected on the spot any task he was performing to run ahead of them and open the door to Violet’s bedchamber. The baroness cast Lance a grateful smile, and noticing it, Guy muttered a thank-you. His was neither arrogance nor indifference, only the usual distance nobility showed to servants, which Violet had experienced at Roganton Castle. It was a very different behaviour than the familiar one she had been used to in her much smaller home, Chetwood Manor.

Guy placed his wife carefully down on the bed. Seeing Lance lingering on the threshold, waiting for possible requests, Violet beckoned him, drawing his attention.

“Lance, please go to the stables and fetch me my saddlebags”, she instructed him. “And while you’re there, get the baron’s too.”

“Aye, my lady”, the boy answered, rushing away.

Violet lifted her skirt to check on her twisted ankle. As she had expected, it had swelled up, but not as much as she had feared, meaning that the sprain was minor.

She began to move her leg to lay it on the bed. Guy promptly intervened to help her, placing one hand under her heel and cautiously lifting her foot. Then, he kneeled and unfastened the boot Violet was still wearing, taking it off.

“Oh heavens, what happened?” a female voice asked from the door, still open after Lance’s leaving. They both turned to look who was there. On the threshold stood Sally, her blond hair gathered in a long braid falling on one shoulder.

“I sprained my ankle”, Violet explained concisely. “I need some towels and a basin with cold water.”

“I’ll be right back!”

The maid disappeared. Guy looked at his wife. “Is there something else I can do for you?”

His ongoing care was deeply touching Violet’s heart.

“Well, there’s Sally now…” she observed in a low, almost intimidated voice.

“ _In sickness and in health_ ”, Guy quoted, reminding her part of the marriage vows. “It applies to both spouses, the husband as much as the wife.”

The smile she addressed him, full of gratitude and – perhaps – affection, thrilled him. Their gazes met and locked.

“Good, then”, Violet murmured. “On the shelf there are some wooden boxes, can you bring me the rightmost?”

Guy quickly fetch it. Violet opened the case, full of small terracotta jars, carefully sealed with corks. She chose one and returned the box to her husband, who placed it back on the shelf.

“Arnica ointment”, Violet explained, lifting the jar. “It’ll ease the pain, but before applying it, I need to reduce the swelling with cold compresses, that’s why I asked Sally for water and towels. Better applying a poultice of green clay too, to speed up the process. And chamomile infusion to cure the inflamed tendons and ligaments. Then, I’ll have to bandage the ankle to keep it straight. A few days of rest, mayhap a sennight, will do the rest.”

Guy had already seen Violet at work as a healer during the measles epidemic, and though he already knew her reputation, he had been greatly impressed. Now he was finding further confirmation about her skill and competence.

Lance came in with their saddlebags. Guy took them and dismissed the boy, then he recovered the boot he had taken off Violet’s sprained foot and placed it next to the other one. Finally, he put the bag upon the footlocker.

Soon enough, Sally was back with the cold water and the towels. At last convinced he was leaving her in good hands, Guy retired to his bedchamber and ordered a bath. As he was soaking in lukewarm water, he recalled the afternoon, so full of thrilling events: at first, the kissing and caressing with his wife, which had his blood boiling in his veins, and then the incident that, for a moment, had frozen it. Contrasting emotions that were nothing but the two sides of the same coin.

The one proclaiming, beyond any possible doubt, that he was madly in love with Violet.


	21. Chapter XXI

Chapter XXI

Nottingham, August 28th, 1194

Violet was laying on her bed, her ankle carefully dressed in a bandage containing the green clay poultice. To pass the time and relieve the tedium of her forced immobility, she was sewing a new camisole for herself. Sally had kept her company until a few moments ago, mending some of her mother’s aprons. Now she had shortly left her to go bring the repaired garments to Joanna.

Violet heard a knock at the door.

“Come in”, she invited, putting down her sewing work. Guy appeared on the threshold.

“I stopped by to see how you are”, he said. Even if he wasn’t smiling, his gaze was full of warmth. It wrapped her like a hug and she liked the feeling.

“The ankle is healing”, she informed him, smiling at him and beckoning him come to her. “However, I’m dying of boredom, locked in this room. I’m used to deal with much more than just sewing”, she lifted the camisole to show him. “Luckily, Sally keeps me company, and Fred comes to keep me constantly updated about the progress on the works in the garden and chapel”, her smile broadened. “I suspect he knows how much I’m bored and therefore he comes up to four times in one day, just to tell me the gardeners are finished with planting the chamomile or the glass-workers with fixing the windows…”

Moving into the room, Guy cast a glance to his wife’s foot, which small size was apparent despite the bulky dressing. Amused, he recalled his mother Ghislaine, who had had big feet, always making fun of herself, saying she had the feet of a giantess.

“Fred’s a good man”, he commented, stopping by the bed. Violet patted on the mattress beside her and so he sat down. “To relieve your tediousness, would you like me taking my meals here with you, until you’ll be able to come down in the great hall?”

His offer pleasantly surprised Violet.

“Of course I’d like that”, she answered a little shyly, then she thought that, once more, she was forgetting that this was Guy. Not only, he was her _husband_ , and she could tell him _exactly_ how much she liked the idea. Unlike her first husband.

“I’d like it _very much_ ”, she therefore added in a bolder tone.

“Fine then, I’ll tell Sally to bring my meals here, starting from this evening’s dinner”, Guy concluded.

He stayed, chatting with her, until the maid returned, and then he informed Sally about his decision. The young woman nodded without commenting, but she thought that her mother was right: Sir Guy – no, Lord Nottingham now – was in love with Lady Violet. This marriage had everybody greatly amazed, and some had expressed compassion for _the poor Lady Violet_ , still too influenced by years of bad behaviour from the black-clad knight. However, as the weeks had passed, they had come to change their minds and some –Joanna was the first one – had started whispering that Guy was smitten with his beautiful wife. Now Sally decided they were right.

Guy took his leave, and the two women were left alone. Sally’s character resembled her mother’s and therefore she was everything but shy, and besides, she liked very much the sweet but also resolute Lady of Nottingham. She decided to investigate discreetly.

“Your husband is very kind to you”, she observed, sitting again by the bed. Violet nodded, pondering that the maid – and anyone else, except Rebelle – had no idea of how much he actually had been and still was kind to her. What other man wouldn’t force his wife into the consummation of the marriage, waiting for weeks that she would feel ready? Her mind wandered back to the moment, in Sherwood Forest, when she had let herself go to her husband’s kisses and caresses. Once more she felt her most private parts heating up, and she blushed.

Seeing that Violet remained silent and her cheeks had reddened as her eyes became dreamy, Sally came to the obvious conclusion that the baroness returned her husband’s feelings.

“You’re lucky”, she commented. “Not many noblewomen marry for love.”

Abruptly called back to the moment, Violet cast a glance to the maidservant and opened her mouth to deny what she had just said, but she thought better of it. It made no sense revealing to those not closely involved that she had married Guy for purely dynastic reasons, and that she had chosen him as the lesser evil… unaware that, actually, her choice would prove anything but evil, and maybe it would even turn out being a lot of good.

“Aye, I’m lucky”, she confirmed. “So, do you think the sleeves are wide enough?” she asked then, showing her camisole. Sally realised Violet didn’t want to deepen the topic and, wisely, didn’t push it. Anyway, she was no particular gossiper, and her curiosity was inspired by the rising affection for her mistress, rather than by indiscretion.

OOO

During the following days, Guy kept his word and came to Violet’s bedchamber to have his meals, breakfast, lunch and dinner. He took exception only once, the day he had to go to Knighton to investigate a fire outbreak that had threatened the construction work at Marian’s mansion, now almost complete. On that occasion, he had met both Marian and Robin, and the slight roundness of the young woman’s belly made him suspect she was with child. When the couple confirmed it, he had congratulated them, with a sincerity that had transpired from his tone. It had positively impressed Robin, who was still unable to fully get rid of his mistrust and resentment of Guy.

On the evening, upon returning to the castle, Guy reported the news to Violet, who was very glad for her friends. At the same time, however, it reminded her the responsibility she bore, regarding the continuation of her family, a duty she had accepted but not carried out yet. A duty that Guy seemed bent to make not only agreeable for her, but also enjoyable, she considered with a warm, intimate shiver that had her cheeks aflame. She hoped her husband hadn’t note her blush.

OOO

On the seventh day after the incident, Violet took off the bandage and began taking the first steps with the due caution, as well as doing exercises designed to reactivate the functionality of her injured ankle.

When he went upstairs for their dinner, Guy found Violet sitting at the small table in front of the unlit fireplace instead of lying on the bed. At his surprised glance, Violet smiled at him and lifted the hem of her skirt to show her now free ankle, no longer swollen.

“A few more days and I’ll be back to walking normally”, she announced. “For some time I’d better not run, leap or dance, though.”

“Will you be able to dance, at Drastan’s and Rebelle’s wedding?” Guy enquired, sitting on the chair across her. “I know how much you love dancing”, he added, recalling the first time they had danced together, at the Easter Fair. Heavens, was it only four months and a half ago? It seemed a much, much longer time, to him.

He had no idea that Violet was considering the same thing.

“I suppose so, at least for the slower dances”, she mused. “Mayhap, as a precaution, I’ll avoid Pas de Brabant and jigs”, she concluded.

The carafes with water and wine were already on the table. Guy took the latter and filled their silver goblets with the engraved Nottingham emblem.

“Here’s to your regained mobility”, he said, raising the cup to his wife.

“Thank you”, she answered, returning the toast. They took a sip, then Violet asked her husband how his day had been. She always did it, looking interested about his duties as a sheriff and a feudal lord, and she offered frequently sagacious and fitting remarks that Guy appreciated.

They heard a knock at the door, announcing that the servants had come with their dinner. Joanna had cooked a chicken for them, roasting it slowly on a spit throughout the whole afternoon, and a side dish with stewed carrots and grilled mushrooms. The delicious smell of food made both Violet’s and Guy’s mouths water.

One of the servants placed a wooden cutting board before them, then the other ones laid out on it the poultry meat and the vegetables, emptying the trays. A maid brought them an aquamanile – a vessel full of water with lemon juice, to wash their hands before and after the meal – as well as a linen towel. Finally, with a bow, the servants left the room, leaving the spouses alone.

After rinsing his hands, Guy grasped the chicken and cut it, deftly using a knife. As he knew his wife favoured the breast, he chopped it in small pieces and offered them to her, as it was the custom for the man to serve his lady. She accepted with a thanking smile.

When they finished eating, they washed and dried their hands.

“Joanna is truly an excellent cook”, Violet commented in a content tone, dunking a piece of bread into the wine to finish it off. It was in fact believed that this kind of _soup_ helped digesting.

Guy confirmed before doing as much. He looked at his wife as she slowly chewed her morsel, charmed by the sweet shadows that her lowered eyelashes created on her cheeks, then she dipped a second piece of bread in the wine. Suddenly, an irresistible longing to kiss her caught him.

As if perceiving his stare, Violet raised her eyes from the goblet and met his. Something in his gaze made her feel a warmth that was still new to her, but that she had learned to recognise for what it was.

Desire.

“My lady wife”, Guy whispered, his voice an octave lower. “Do you know that you’re stunning?”

Violet blushed and felt even hotter.

“Thank you, my lord husband”, she answered softly. She thought that her voice too had an unusual lower tone.

A swarm of butterflies invaded Guy’s stomach and his blood flowed down to his groin. Since Violet’s little incident, they hadn’t shared any more intimate moments like the one they had had in the woods, on the day they had gone to the convent, because he was afraid he could hurt her, in case he would become too rough. However, now that he knew her ankle had almost completely healed, the craving to kiss and caress her as he had done in the woods detonated, prompting him to pick up from where they had left off. The servants wouldn’t come back to collect the tableware and the leftovers unless called for, therefore he wasn’t afraid that someone would interrupt them, catching them in _private_ activities.

The rose and extended his hand to her. She didn’t hesitate to accept it, rising in turn. Before pulling her into his arms, Guy clarified his intentions, in order to reassure her and to make sure that she too wanted this.

“I’d like to resume the _thing_ we stopped in the forest last week”, he said, his typical half-smile suffused with softness. “But only if you agree.”

The sheer idea made Violet’s blood suddenly boil in her veins. She didn’t take off her eyes from her husband’s.

“Aye”, she whispered. “I too would like to resume it, b… but”, she slightly stammered. “I don’t know if I’m ready to _complete_ it…” she concluded, unable to entirely hold in check her nerves.

“There’s no need”, Guy soothed her, touched by her sincerity, but also grateful for it. “I’ll stop at any moment you’d ask me to do so.”

He had told her this several times already, but he felt she needed him to repeat it.

Violet nodded and took a step forwards, coming very close to him, her face raised toward his. Guy looped his arms around her and lowered his head, placing his lips on hers.

As the previous times, he began softly as not to frighten her. Then, he asked access to her mouth, parting his lips and caressing the junction of hers with the tip of his tongue.

Violet responded immediately. She didn’t just welcome him, but she preceded him, starting the sensual kiss first.

This set Guy aflame. With a sigh, he held her tighter, pressing her soft curves against the hardness of his body. He raised one hand, placing it on Violet’s nape, and angled his head to get better access to her warm and sweet mouth that was responding so well to his requests, even asking for more.

Against her belly, Violet felt the entire consistency of Guy’s desire. Instinct drove her into rocking her pelvis, rubbing herself against him.

Guy groaned as his longing reached higher peaks still. For a moment, he was tempted to push Violet on the table, heedless of tableware and jugs, slipping between her knees and taking her, but he immediately contained himself and left her lips to look at her. She opened her eyes. Her clouded gaze was a little lost and it reminded him that he had to proceed gently and cautiously and that he mustn’t allow his need to overwhelm him, for any reason whatsoever.

Therefore, he gave her a tiny reassuring smile, then he withdrew slightly and lowered his hands on the buckle of the belt girding her hips, starting to slowly unfasten it, allowing her time to stop him, if she wanted to. She didn’t pull back. When he was done, he tossed the belt to the floor. Without a word, Violet turned and lifted her hair, uncovering the fastening on the back of her gown. Her invitation was clear and Guy felt his heart jump to his throat. Trying to hold back the nervousness that was cutting off his breath, he unlaced the knot keeping the gown closed, then he unloosed the opening. Violet grasped the hem of the neckline and pulled to take the garb off her shoulders, then she slid her arms out of the sleeves and let go. Her dress fell in a heap around her feet and Violet turned again. The undergarment she was wearing wasn’t as transparent as the nightgown she wore on her nuptial night, but under the light fabric, Guy could make out the curves of her body. He travelled his eyes over them, avidly, and under his intense gaze, Violet felt hot.

Guy looked her again in the eyes, his irises darkening with desire. The longing to take her into his arms and kiss her breathlessly set him ablaze. He wanted nothing more than carry her to the bed, caress and kiss her everywhere and finally make her his wife through and through. However, he knew he had to restrain himself, because he wanted it to be a wonderful experience for her, one that would make her forget forever the brutality her first husband had inflicted her. Therefore, he inhaled to calm down, then he unfastened his jacket and took it off, flinging it on a chair. Now he was in his undershirt, black like the rest of his clothing. He quickly got rid of it and stood bare-chested in front of his wife.

The sight of his brawny and almost completely hairless torso, which she was seeing up close for the first time, took her breath away. Charles had always worn a nightdress when he exercised his marital rights, but as a healer, she had seen many men shirtless, when she had to examine them, or to apply medicinal ointments and balms. Several had been powerfully built like Guy, but none of them had caused the heat she was feeling now, nor had made her heartbeat increase so much.

Her wild emotions showed on her face. Guy caught them and realised Violet desired him, whether she was aware of it or not. Now it was up to him to make her conscious of her desire, to the point she would want to welcome him inside of her and become with him one flesh.

He bent and lifted her in his arms. With just a few steps of his long legs, he carried her to the bed, where he lay her down. He took off her soft indoor shoes, then he left her briefly to get rid of his boots, and finally he stretched out next to her, cradling her again into his embrace. Violet looped her arms around him, holding him tight, and closed the distance between their faces, her eyes lowered on his lips, a clear invitation to kiss her. She had no need to beg him and Guy sealed her mouth with a kiss, trying to make her feel the tenderness over the craving. Violet reciprocated him, her tongue caressing his in a still shy, but definitely sensual way. She was a passionate woman who a petty man had violated to the point she had ended up abhorring carnal love, but he would make her discover what kind of pleasure it could give her.

He left her mouth and, slowly, he began descending along her neck, caressing her with his lips, placing tiny kisses on her throat and chest. With one hand, he brushed her breasts and he heard her gasp when he touched a sensitive bud through the fabric of her camisole. He found the lace that held the neckline closed and pulled at it, unfastening it, then he slipped his hand under the hem and cupped one soft mound. With his thumb, he fondled her nipple, which promptly stiffened. 

Violet had never been touched this way. Feeling Guy’s fingers caressing the sensitive peak of her breast, she gasped again. Her depths flared up, a symptom of her desire, and she moaned.

These delightful noise encouraged Guy. He pushed the camisole aside, baring the breast he had been caressing, and lowering his head he took its nipple into his mouth, sucking gently. He felt Violet jump and heard her uttering a pleasure-expressing sound, so he nibbled the hard gem with his lips, eliciting more delighted sounds from his wife.

Violet was feeling increasingly hotter. Particularly between her thighs she felt as if she was going to catch fire. Each kiss, each caress Guy was bestowing on her made her long for something more, something she had only heard of: the love ecstasy she had never known.

So far.

Guy bared her other breast and moved to give it his full attention, as his hand slid along the curve of Violet’s hip, then further down along her thigh, as far as he could reach. At that point, he grabbed the thin fabric of the camisole and started picking it up, uncovering her legs, until he could brush its skin, silky and warm under his fingers.

Moving completely on instinct, Violet lifted her leg and placed it over Guy’s. Delighted by her response, Guy grasped the back or her knee and brought her nearer to him, getting the centre of her body into contact with his thigh. An unusual but strangely familiar tingle invaded Violet’s most private spot, and to soothe it, she rubbed herself against her husband’s leg.

Her reaction had Guy groaning.

“Oh Violet…” he murmured. “My beautiful blossom…”

This tender name touched her soul and she tightened her hold around him.

“Guy…” she whispered in return. She would have liked to reciprocate his ministrations, but her inexperience held her back, therefore she simply caressed his shoulders and back.

Feeling Violet’s hands moving on him made him sigh in pleasure. It was apparent that his wife was enjoying very much what they were doing, and therefore Guy decided to take her a little further. Softly, he pushed her on her back and inserted one hand between her knees. Once more acting on pure instinct, Violet responded parting her thighs. Slowly, Guy climbed the inside of her leg, brushing its soft skin. When he placed his fingers on her most secret part, he felt its warm dew and this proof of desire for him moved him deeply.

At Guy’s touch, Violet inhaled sharply, startled by the sensation of pleasure. She felt the heat between her thighs increasing and uttered a little gasp, expressing both her liking and her wonder, a gasp she repeated louder when Guy began brushing precisely her most sensitive spot.

Guy lifted his head from her breasts and looked at her, searching for a sign of consent. She had thrown back her head, her eyes were closed and her lips parted on vocalisations that were undoubtedly expressing appreciation. He explored the damp petals of her feminine flower, wetting his fingers in those humours that revealed Violet’s desire. Then, he gently inserted the tip of one digit, moving it in small circles, trying to get her used to the feeling of something inside of her, something pleasant, not a violation, but a gentle preparation for the time their bodies would join in the love act.

Violet’s eyes widened and for a moment Guy feared that, despite his gentleness, he had scared her. Then, he realised that delight was clouding her gaze, and he had further proof of it hearing the sighing moan she uttered a moment later. Encouraged, Guy started to skilfully rub the centre of her pleasure with his thumb. Violet closed her eyes again and uttered a louder moan. Her breath became more laboured as her moans increased in volume.

Violet was overwhelmed with the totally new sensations she was feeling because of Guy’s ministrations. The pleasure that was invading her, starting from the places her husband was touching her with his fingers or lips, kept increasing, more and more, When she thought she couldn’t feel more, a new wave came and she felt carried higher, up to vertiginous peaks that left her breathless. Guy’s fingers were teasing her in a gentle yet exciting way until it became nearly a torment… but an absolutely delicious torment. She was out of breath and almost wheezing, her heart beating hard, the roar of her own blood in her ears. She began writhing, unable to restrain her body, seeking the completion of something she didn’t know. She felt like catching fire as heartbreaking moans fell from her lips, expressing both pleasure and frustration. And then, what she was yearning without even knowing what it was, suddenly arrived. A fiery pleasure overwhelmed her, fogging her mind, flinging her into a whirling storm of physical and emotional sensations. The uncontrollable spasms of a pleasure she had never experienced before shook her flesh. She arched her back, convulsively holding on to her husband, a slave to a delight which intensity shocked her, and she let out a soft cry of astonishment, followed by a long, heartbreaking whimper of pleasure. When the convulsions of her body subsided, she fell back on the mattress, breathless, her skin covered in a thin layer of perspiration.

Satisfied and thrilled, Guy stopped, but he didn’t break the contact. After some moments, he slowly pulled back his fingers. Craving for Violet’s secret taste, he brought them to his lips and licked at them, tasting the juice of her pleasure and finding it exquisite. He ignored his virility, which was painfully throbbing, begging for release. He had just shown Violet the pleasure he could give her, but it was too early to ask her for more. Thus, he settled on brushing softly her arm.

Feeling him caressing her, Violet opened her eyes. Her gaze was still blurred, and she needed some moments to focus it on Guy’s face.

“What…” she whispered huskily. She swallowed and tried again. “What did you do to me?”

For a moment, Guy felt torn between the tenderness that her inexperience was arising in him and the wrath about the reason causing it, that is, her first husband’s despicable behaviour.

“I gave you pleasure, my wife”, he answered softly. “The pleasure a man, to call himself such, can and has to give to his woman.” 

She wrinkled her brow, perplexed.

“But… we didn’t join”, she objected. He enclosed her in his arms, drawing her against him, and made an impish face.

“There are many ways a man can give pleasure to his woman”, he explained. His deep voice, one octave lower, had a shiver running down Violet’s spine, because his tone seemed to hold many promises. Besides, the hardness of his masculinity against her leg was arousing her.

“Oh” she breathed, momentarily speechless. Then, she thought of a suitable answer and grinned. “And… are there many ways a woman, too, can give pleasure to her man?”

It was Guy’s turn to feel a warm shiver as he looked into his wife’s eyes.

“Actually… yes”, he murmured, a little hesitantly.

Violet quivered with anticipation.

“Would you teach me?” she asked softly.

Guy felt his throat going dry. He would give his right arm to sink his flesh into hers, but he knew he had to restrain himself, at least this time. After all, she could _truly_ pleasure him in other ways.

“Are you sure you want to?” he enquired, afraid she could find it unpleasant.

“Aye”, was her answer, simple and direct.

Guy raised one hand and caressed her cheek, then he leant over to her and kissed her soft lips. He turned on his back, taking her with him, and brushed the length of her arm until he interlaced his fingers with hers.

“Touch me”, he invited her. After a moment of uncertainty, Violet asked. “How?” then she changed the question. “Where?”

“Wherever you want. Everywhere… like I touched _you_.”

She hesitated briefly, then she propped on one elbow to better move and placed one hand on his chest. Slowly, she outlined the edges of his pectorals, then with feather light fingers she drew a circle around one nipple. Eventually, she brushed it with her fingertips. Guy sighed, half-closing his eyes, showing his pleasure for her tentative yet erotic caresses. Taking courage, Violet bent forward, her hair falling around her face, and placed her lips on his throat, brushing the warm skin, slightly rough because of his stubbles. She heard Guy uttering a sigh. Recalling how he had kissed her, she darted out the tip of her tongue, brushing his skin, and started moving downwards, heading for a nipple. She surrounded it with her lips and teased it, sucking and nibbling. Guy groaned. Violet had never done anything like this in all her life and she felt strangely proud of herself. She switched nipples, giving the same treatment to the other one, and meanwhile she shoved her hand down on her husband’s abdomen, travelling its surface until she felt his navel under her fingers. With her forefinger, she traced its edges, then she teased the tiny dip. In response, Guy’s abdominal muscles quivered. Violet moved, sliding down her husband’s body, her lips brushing him from his chest to his belly as her hand followed the path of hair disappearing under the hem of his breeches. The bulge on the front of his crotch was remarkable and she thought that the constraint had to bother him greatly. She sat up.

Guy uttered a protesting sound when she withdrew, replacing it at once with a pleased moan when his wife’s nimble fingers began fumbling with the strings of his breeches, inadvertently brushing his most sensitive place. When the fly opened, his erection sprang up, proudly raising and reaching out for her tempting hands, longing for her caresses.

Violet lowered her gaze on Guy’s virility. She had rarely seen this anatomic part of Charles, who came at her in his nightdress and simply lifted his garment and hers before mounting her. Right now, Violet was wearing her camisole, but it was still up around her waist and down her shoulders, baring her most private parts. Oddly, she didn’t feel embarrassed, not in the slightest way, and she freed her arms from the sleeves so she could move more easily. The appreciative glance Guy shot to her breasts set her aflame, but exactly at this moment, she realised she didn’t know how to proceed further.

“Tell me what I shall do now”, she exhorted him softly, looking at him seeking guidance.

“Better if I take off my breeches first”, Guy muttered, grasping the hem of the garment and starting to push it down his legs. After getting rid of it, he tossed it on the floor and lay back again, now completely naked. Violet watched his physique, long-limbed and brawny, finding it striking and exciting. Under her avid gaze, Guy felt his masculinity becoming increasingly impatient. He took her hand and, gently, he guided it where he was now feeling an almost painful pulsing.

“Touch me”, he whispered, moving her hand on himself so that she was rubbing him. She accepted his invitation and, when he left her, she went on moving her hand. Guy groaned as a shiver travelled from the base to the tip. He let her do it for some more moments, then he led her fingers surrounding him and massaging him up and down, applying a certain pressure.

Violet complied, initially with understandable hesitation, then with more confidence. Guy’s love laments increased, letting her know she was doing well. She recalled something Rebelle had told her about her love games with Drastan. She cast a sideway glance to Guy, who was laying eyes closed, digging his fingers into the mattress, and she smiled impishly. Before her inexperience held her back, making her shy, she bent forward and placed her lips on her husband’s male sceptre.

Feeling this bold caress, Guy jumped hard and uttered a muffled cry. Violet almost lost contact, and hence she placed her mouth more firmly on the tip. She was surprised to find there a wet and warm drop, and without thinking, she licked it, finding the taste slightly salty.

A groan escaped Guy’s throat, louder than the previous ones.

“Violet…!” he exclaimed breathlessly. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me…”

She drew back briefly to answer him. “I’m pleasuring you, husband.”

She placed her lips again on his solid and warm flesh, continuing to caress him with both her lips and hand.

Guy’s mind clouded. Violet had no experience about how to please a man, but her instinct was guiding her in a way he hadn’t expected. He wouldn’t be able to restrain himself, but through the fog dimming his reason, a thought made its way to the surface: if he reached the peak this way, he risked Violet feeling dismayed or even disgusted. Therefore, he gathered every drop of his will, seriously undermined by Violet’s ministrations, and groaned in an urgent tone. “Please, stop…!”

Violet complied and raised her gaze to Guy’s face, surprised by his request.

“Am I… not good enough…?” she enquired anxiously. Was she really so incapable to satisfy her husband?

Perceiving her concern, Guy shook his head.

“You’re perfect”, he reassured her. “Actually, you’re _too_ perfect…” he groped in search of the best words, words that wouldn’t sound scurrilous. “I’m afraid that my reaction might displease you”, he concluded.

Violet didn’t understand.

“How could I be displeased by the knowing I gave you the same pleasure you gave to me?” she asked.

“’Tis not that”, Guy explained, his mind clearer now that she had withdrawn. Again, he looked for a delicate way to express himself. “When a man enjoys his pleasure… he releases a liquid… You’re new to all this, mayhap you wouldn’t appreciate the taste.”

Perplexed, Violet held his gaze, then she grasped it: Guy was talking about his seed. The very substance from which a new life could be born. It wasn’t a bad thing, she thought. It was the act of spurting it that could be bad, for instance, as Charles did with her. However, Guy was acting in a totally different way… so much different, that there was no comparison between them. He heart swelled up because of the thoughtfulness her husband was showing her.

“If you’re afraid I may not appreciate the taste, tell me in which other way I can pleasure you…” she murmured.

During the break, Guy had slightly relaxed. Violet’s request made him aware once more of her hand around him, and this made his virility harden again.

“You can… go on touching me as you were doing before kissing me”, he answered, his throat parching in anticipation.

The smile she addressed him had his heart summersaulting.

Violet started again to fondle him. She studied closely his reactions and so she quickly learnt what kind of movement and what amount of pressure he enjoyed the most, and when his groans became stronger, she accelerated her rhythm. Eventually, Guy tensed, arching his back and digging his fingers into the mattress, and under her hand Violet felt the moist warmth of his seed surging in time with the spasms of his male rod,as uncontrollable whimpers escaped his throat. Violet felt suddenly a strange, unexpected sensation of power because she had been capable of this. And there was more at it: Guy had proved he trusted her to the point to allow her touching his most private and vulnerable spot, and to lose control, exposing himself and entrusting himself completely to her.

As he had done when he had told her his terrible secret regarding the attempted regicide, he had shown he absolutely trusted her.

Like she absolutely trusted him.

And trust was the best basis for a marriage, even better than love.

This consideration saddened her, defusing the satisfaction she was feeling as she looked at Guy climaxing by her ministrations. This sadness had only one explanation: she was in love with him. Having his trust, even if unconditioned and complete, wasn’t enough, because she wanted his love.

But was he willing to give it to her?

Then, Guy opened his eyes, its foggy gaze talking about fulfilment and contentment.

“You’re…” he croaked. He cleared his throat, and with it, his eyes too cleared. “You’re amazing, Violet.”

She blushed, embarrassed and pleased at the same time.

“Thank you”, she murmured.

Guy took two breaths to give himself a little time, then he moved to get up, nodding reassuringly to his wife who was staring at him slightly at a loss because of his unexpected leaving. He crossed over to the table where they had dined and picked up the towels they had used to dry their hands after washing them. He brought one to Violet, so she could wipe her hand from his seed, and used the other one to clean himself.

At last, he lay down again beside her and held his arms out to her.

“Come here, my lady wife”, he whispered. Violet quickly straightened her camisole, then she nestled herself against him, placing her head on his shoulder. She felt exhausted, overwhelmed by the force of her emotions: the desire for Guy, the pleasure he had made her experience for the first time in her life, the pleasure she had given to him, and finally, the finding that she was in love with him.

Guy leant over, grabbing the sheet and covering himself and his wife, because it was beginning to get chilly, at night, so it was better to sleep with a cover.

They stayed like this, tenderly embracing, without talking. Soon, the steady heartbeat of her husband lulled Violet into sleep. Guy instead was awake for a while longer, savouring the marvel of feeling the warmth and suppleness of his wife’s body against his, but even more, the feeling of joy and completeness he was experiencing.

Eventually, little by little he too drifted off to sleep.


	22. Chapter XXII

Chapter XXII

Nottingham, September 2nd, 1194

Violet woke up, surrounded by a pleasant warmth that wasn’t due to covers, but to a body lying next to hers, arms around her. For a moment, she froze, completely dumbfounded: never, in her whole life, had she awakened in somebody’s arms.

The sunshine seeping through a window, as the night before they had forgotten to close the shutters, had waked her. From the light, she could tell it was one hour past sunrise.

Lifting her head from the shoulder it was resting on to look at the man who was holding her, she discovered he was awake and looking at her with eyes full of tenderness.

“Good morning, blossom”, he greeted her softly. Once more, this name filled her with deep emotion.

“Good morning to you”, she returned his greeting, equally softly.

“You slept well?” Guy asked her, gently caressing her arm under the sheet.

“Aye… very well. And you?”

“I, too.”

It was true. For the first time in ages – so long ago he couldn’t even even remember – Guy had slept peacefully, content and serene. Recalling the apparent reason because this had happened, a shudder travelled along his virility and it began to stir, but before he could make any move, Violet announced. “I’m starving! I think I’ll have a very large breakfast, this morning.”

She pulled away and moved to get out of bed, but Guy extended one hand to her.

“But, my beautiful wife… aren’t you hungry _for me_ , this morning?” he asked in a both teasing and seductive way.

Violet blushed at his ostensible allusion to the conjugal joys they had shared the night before, even if in a limited form.

Her gaze fell on Guy’s forearm, which she was now seeing clearly for the first time. On his skin a shrivelled, dark mark like a burn stood out, crossed by a long scar. The night before she had been too distracted and she hadn’t noticed anything, but now, her flushed cheeks blanched suddenly.

“Oh my… what did they do to your arm?” she asked, horrified.

Guy fought his instinctive wish to hide the scar, struggling to place his arm on the pillow and keep it in full view.

“A tattoo proving my affiliation to the Black Knights”, he admitted in a very low voice, so low that Violet could hardly hear him. “I told you about it, remember?” Violet nodded in confirmation and Guy went on. “After Robin found out I was the one who made an attempt to King Richard’s life, Vaisey erased it using an acid Djaq had created.”

Violet gasped.

“It must’ve hurt like fire”, she commented softly.

“Like hell”, Guy admitted. “It took several weeks and ointments to no end, to kill the pain definitively.”

Slowly, Violet reached out and very softly brushed the rippled skin with her forefinger.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“No… but I lost a little feeling. You have to rub harder, if you want me to feel your touch”, she increased the friction and Guy nodded. “There you are.”

“Whoever treated you made a good job”, Violet commented. “Not everyone knows that a scar has to be cured even after the skin has healed, keeping it hydrated with oils and salves for a long time.”

“’Twas Brother Julius, Thurgarton’s healer”, Guy revealed. “He’s also Matilda’s brother.”

Violet nodded, as she knew him well.

Her thoughts wandered elsewhere, exploring a direction that, for some time, she had abandoned: the problem of Guy’s attempted regicide, instigated by Vaisey. 

“Guy, tell me… who knows that you were the one attempting at the king’s life?” she asked in a low voice, her face very serious.

The question surprised Guy and at first he knitted his brow, but Violet’s grave expression persuaded him that she had something in mind. He reflected.

“After Vaisey’s death, only Robin and his gang”, he answered at length.

“No one of the other Black Knights?”

“No, ‘twas solely the old sheriff’s plan and he didn’t share it with anyone, especially after it failed”, he took a deep breath. “This is, regarding the first attempt, when I went alone, but later came the scheme Vaisey plotted with the Black Knights, as a result of which he decided to personally go to the Holy Land and kill King Richard. He managed to wound him with an arrow and he ordered me to finish him off, and that’s when Marian intervened to stop me”, he tried hard to remember exactly what had happened in the square of that village in the desert, trying to ignore the usual sense of horror flooding him with that thought, despite Marian’s forgiveness. “Mayhap King Richard heard Marian pronouncing my name. We were fairly close to where he had fallen… Then, after I had stabbed Marian, Vaisey showed up and shouted my name to run along with him. Thus ‘tis possible that the king knows my name, if not indeed seen my face during my fight with Marian. Or else, she and Robin could have told him later.” 

Violet was thinking frantically.

“We must ask them”, she concluded. “If the king hasn’t heard your name and they haven’t told him anything afterwards, there’s a possibility that Richard doesn’t know about you. You and Robin reconciled…” at his sceptical look, she corrected herself. “You and Robin called a truce, and he and his men are back to a normal life because you suspended the ban on them, therefore I’m sure they’ll keep the secret, if you ask them…”

Guy shook his head.

“Why should they do me this favour?” he mused, doubtful, “They don’t love me, nor do they have any reason to do so.”

“Then I’ll ask them”, Violet said passionately. “Robin will surely indulge me, and his men will follow his wake as they’ve always done. Much practically lives for Robin, even now that he’s given him the Bonchurch estate; Little John respects Robin highly and would never go against him; Allan A Dale will feel forever forced to prove his loyalty after betraying his companions and thus he’ll agree to my request for secrecy all the more. As for Will Scarlet and Djaq, I doubt they’ll ever have the opportunity to speak again to the king in the Holy Land, and anyway they don’t have any reason to talk to him about you.”

She was so enthusiastic that Guy felt sorry he had to temper her hopes.

“’Tis very dangerous”, he considered, trying to use a gentle tone. “It takes just a little something, like a fortuitous encounter or a slip of the tongue, and the king will know about my guilt.”

Disappointed, Violet fell silent, pondering further.

“Then we’ll work it out when the time comes”, she concluded. “Robin and his men will keep their mouths shut, therefore, if Richard knows about you, ‘tis because he has seen you, or has heard your name during the fight in the Holy Land, or because he’s learnt it from Will and Djaq. In this case, you’ll ask him for clemency, denouncing the few surviving Black Knights.”

“But this implies denouncing his brother, the Prince John, too”, Guy objected. “And he’d deny everything, of course. Do you really believe that, with no evidence, King Richard would be willing to trust me, a traitor, instead of his brother?” he shook his head. “No, I’d rather count on Prince John being very careful as not to let slip he has plotted against the rightful king.”

“You’re right”, Violet nodded musingly. “Does Prince John know about your involvement with the Black Knights?”

Guy reflected before answering. “I’m not aware that Vaisey ever informed him about it, but I think he suspects it. Why are you asking?”

“If he doesn’t know, or if he doesn’t know for sure that you were one of their affiliates, he has no loopholes to blackmail you, when you’ll expose the other conspirators to King Richard…”

Guy considered his wife’s words. Violet had a very brilliant mind, he thought. Her first husband had been twice an idiot: not only he had mistreated her in bed, but also he had insulted her cleverness, of which Guy was instead very glad to avail himself.

“I’ll expose them only if necessary”, he reasoned slowly. “That is, in case King Richard knows about my attempt on his life and I’ll therefore need something to earn his mercy.”

Violet’s swift brain was still working hard.

“Aye”, she approved. “Keep your allegation as the last resort, but meanwhile, warn the involved people about the fact that, should they betray you in any way, you won’t hesitate to betray them in turn. Thus you’ll make sure they won’t say a word.”

Guy appreciated once more his wife’s sagacity. However, there was a small flaw in her reasoning.

“They could hire an assassin and send him to kill me”, he objected.

“And you let them know you wrote a document where you expose them and that this document is in safe hands”, she replied promptly. “Write it for good”, she added. 

Guy nodded, accepting her suggestion.

“I’m surprised John doesn’t know you were a Black Knight”, Violet then commented. “I thought he appointed you pro tempore sheriff exactly for this reason.”

“No, he’s actually convinced that, because I was Vaisey’s right hand, I’m a supporter of his cause as much as the old baron was”, Guy explained. Violet nodded: this made sense, in fact.

At that moment, she felt something warm and wet gliding along the inner side of her thighs.

“Oh no”, she muttered.

“What?” Guy asked at once, a little alarmed by her sorrowful tone.

“My lunar cycle”, Violet sighed, rolling off the bed. “Excuse me, I need to take care of myself”, she murmured. She was clearly asking him to leave.

Guy understood. He had lived enough years with women, at first his mother, then his grown up sister, to know that in these circumstances they needed to be left alone.

“Sure”, he therefore answered, getting up. Of course, he was sorry that, because of the bleeding, their love games had to be postponed, but neither he nor his wife could help it.

He got dressed quickly as Violet headed for the niche covered with doors that served as a built-in cabinet, evidently looking for what she needed in her conditions.

“Shall I send for Sally to help you?” he asked, his hand already on the doorknob.

Violet appreciated his thoughtfulness and turned with a slight smile.

“No, I’m used to do it myself”, she answered. “But you can tell her that from this morning on I resume having my meals in the hall.”

“Fine”, Guy agreed, opening the door to leave. “I’ll wait for you for breakfast, then”, he concluded. His gaze landed on the table where they had dined. “Mayhap ‘tis good I send the servants to clear the table”, he added, pointing. Violet turned her gaze and saw where he was indicating. Realising the reason the table was still cluttered up with the remains of their evening meal, she felt her cheeks turning aflame, both embarrassed and thrilled. She nodded quietly, then Guy left.

Violet returned to her situation. From the closet, she retrieved a few cloths of linen gauze, very fine and soft, and dried bog moss, as well as the straps that, hooked to a thin belt under her dress, would keep in place the tampon she would create with the moss wrapped in the linen cloths. It was a discomfort, each time it happened, but luckily only at a practical level, because it prevented her, for instance, to ride easily without risking getting dirty. Other women could confront more serious discomforts, such as abdominal pain or cramps, or a general malaise, even nausea, troubles that she could alleviate with her herbalist skills but that nonetheless created distress, sometimes even major ones. Rebelle, for instance, suffered sporadically from excruciating pain, which passed in a matter of hours with the help of a warm stone placed on her belly and a tisane of yarrow, chamomile and balm. Luckily it happened less than once a year, especially in the cold season, but in those occasions she had to stay in bed, incapacitated even to get up because of the cramps.

Adèle had taught her daughter the importance of personal cleanliness in general, and particularly in this case, therefore Violet cleansed herself thoroughly before positioning the tampon and securing it with the belt. Then, she dressed and finally she went downstairs to the great hall, where Guy was waiting for her to break their fast. The first meal of the day had no set time, because there were people beginning their jobs before sunrise and other ones later, so usually the hall wasn’t crowded. This morning was no exception, with just half a dozen people intent on eating at the lower tables and Guy, sitting at the high table but still with no food before him. As soon as he saw her appearing on the threshold, he stood up to welcome her.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long”, Violet said in an apologising tone, taking her seat next to him. “I got here as quick as I could.”

“’Twas me telling you I would wait”, Guy reminded her, feeling bad that she was apologising when there was no need to. Certainly, a consequence of the treatment she had received from her first husband, which made her feel on edge even now. He hoped with all his heart that Roganton was burning in Hell.

Violet nodded, acknowledging he was right, then the servants arrived with their breakfast and she got distracted.

As they were finishing eating, Drastan arrived with Gilbert who, apparently, had just returned from Stafford, where Guy had sent him to look for Isabella.

“Good news, Guy!” Drastan began exuberantly before the captain of the guards started to speak, “Come on, Gilbert, report what you got!”

“My lord, I found your sister!” the soldier said quickly. “She lives just outside Stafford, in a well-kept manor, along with her husband Sir Stephan of Thornton and their three children, two lads and a girl. Following your instructions, I didn’t approach her and I simply gathered information. It seems that Sir Stephan is a wealthy enough man. He treats well his wife and children, and she’s a proud but respectful woman. Their elder son, Marcus, is fourteen years old and shows a disposition for weapons; Roland, twelve, looks like having a head for studying; and Gwen, who just turned nine, is a very lively lass.”

Guy was listening avidly to the news regarding his sister. As Gilbert was continuing talking, the sheriff felt more and more relieved. His worse fear had been that he had judged Thornton wrongly, when he had given him Isabella as a wife in exchange for enough money to purchase his knight equipment and begin the recovery of his social and economic status. At the time, Guy had been driven by need and ambition, but he would never entrust his sister to a man who could mistreat her. He had accepted Thornton’s proposal because he had made an enough good impression on him, but he couldn’t be sure he was right. In all these years, Guy had buried his fears in the most hidden corner of his soul, focusing on the way to take back his station. Now it was a great comfort to learn that things had worked out well for Isabella. He just hoped that it was truly like this, and not just appearance.

Gilbert had finished his report and he was now silent, awaiting Guy’s reply. Sensing her husband’s uneasiness, Violet intervened.

“Good news, I’d say!” she cried. “Don’t you agree, Guy?”

Guy turned to look at her, taking his mind off the whirlwind of his thoughts.

“Aye… or so I think”, he answered in a low voice.

“What about going and make sure of it?” Drastan suggested. “Stafford is about half a day on horseback from Nottingham. We can leave tomorrow and be back the day after.”

“Excellent idea”, Violet approved, encouragingly. She knew that Guy was torn between the wish to meet his sister and the fear to be refused with contempt by her because of what he had done to her, but it looked like Isabella had a good life and this gave hope for a friendly, if not exactly warm, welcome.

“It can be done”, Guy admitted, without going too far. “Let’s see before what schedule we have.”

“Nothing that cannot be moved up to today or postponed to Monday”, Drastan answered promptly. As Guy’s deputy, the fair-haired knight was a formidable planner.

Having already received his wife’s backing, Guy made up his mind.

“Fine: we leave tomorrow in the early morning”, he announced. “We take spare horses as not to wear out our mounts…”

Guy was busy all day with his duties as the lord of the manor. With Drastan’s assistance, he accomplished all the activities they couldn’t postpone to the following days.

During the midday meal break, he asked Violet’s opinion about the way he should show up at Isabella’s. “Shall I go directly to her, or shall I sent Drastan before, announcing my arrival?”

Violet pondered that she, personally, would have very much appreciated Jeffrey giving her a big surprise. The thought of her later brother caused briefly a lump in her throat, but she struggled to overcome it in order to answer, reasoning that Isabella’s and Guy’s situation was very different.

“If you go to her without notice, you run the risk of her dropping dead”, she considered. “So mayhap ‘tis better if Drastan precedes you, paving the way for you, so to speak.”

Guy nodded slowly. “You’re right, I’ll do that.”

“Just one more thing”, Violet added. “Get her a gift.”

“You think she’d appreciate it?” Guy asked, and seeing her nodding firmly, he pulled a face, uncertain. “What would you suggest?”

Again, Violet pondered before answering. “Something she liked very much as a little girl, something that reminds her about your shared childhood.”

The sheriff thought about those times, that had been carefree at least until their father had left for the crusade, from which he had returned disfigured by leprosy.

“She was crazy about _pain d’épices…_ gingerbread. My mother used to bake it often, but I don’t know the recipe”, he complained.

Violet beamed.

“But I do!” at her husband’s surprised look, she explained. “My mother loved sweets very much and she had a number of books with English, Italian, French and German specialties. I don’t remember by heart the recipe of gingerbread, but I can get it from those very books and give it to Joanna.”

“Wonderful!” Guy cried, taking her hand and lifting it to his lips. “Thank you, my lady wife, you’re truly precious.”

Violet felt his genuine appreciation wrapping her like a warm blanket. Not even once had Charles made her feel this way. Another lump formed in her throat, but she swallowed it down.

“Oh, come on, nonsense…” she tried to minimise.

“’Tis no _nonsense_ in my eyes”, her husband contradicted her. “On the opposite, ‘tis very important, because I hope it’ll help me to make an impression on my sister”, he returned to his cutting board and to the piece of smoked salmon placed on it, “I’ll invite her to come and visit us along with her family, so you can meet her”, he concluded.

“I’d love it”, Violet declared, before going back to her food.

After finding the recipe of her mother’s gingerbread, Violet brought it at once to Joanna. Ignoring the cook’s protests about being inappropriate for a baroness to stay and work in a kitchen, she assisted her in the baking of the cake, making two of them because she wanted to serve one to her husband at dinner, so that he could tell if it was enough alike to the one Ghislaine used to bake.

When he was presented with the _pain d’épices_ , Guy savoured it carefully.

“Absolutely delicious”, he declared then.

“Thank you… but does it taste similar enough to your mother’s?” Violet insisted, a little anxious.

“Many years have passed, but I’d say that, if ‘tis not exactly identical, it tastes pretty similar”, he reassured her.

“I hope you’ll bake more!” Drastan intervened, devouring the last bite. Watching him sucking on his fingers with a contented face, Violet laughed.

“I got it! I’ll give the recipe to your cook at Rivendale.”

Rebelle hated cooking, even if she could prepare the simplest food, so the cook had been the first person engaged when she and Drastan had begun to fix the estate in a view to their wedding.

“That was what I wanted to hear”, the blond knight approved, beaming.

OOO

Early in the following morning, Guy and Drastan left Nottingham Castle on their horses, taking with them a spare mount each. In one of the saddlebags, carefully wrapped in a linen cloth, the sheriff carried the _pain d’épices_ meant for Isabella.

They reached Stafford in the early afternoon, after a short stop for the midday meal at an inn along the road. Following Gilbert’s directions, they crossed the town and headed for Thornton’s estate. As Gilbert had reported, the mansion was well kept, with a fine vegetable garden and a lush flower garden. The stables were located in a small building set aside the main house, and a little further stood a cowshed, a pigsty and a henhouse. At a distance, they could see cultivated fields and orchards. The estate wasn’t very large, roughly like Bonchurch now or Gisborne once, but it was certainly enough to support Thornton’s family, its sharecroppers and the few crafts workers whose shops they could see there.

Guy’s anxiety had steadily grown as they were approaching and now it reached the highpoint. He felt the urge to turn Darkshadow and beat a retreat, but he mastered himself. He had never been a coward and he wasn’t going to begin now.

He halted in front of the stables, with Drastan at his side. They got off their horses and tethered them to the provided poles, then the blond knight headed for the entrance to the main house. He had taken just a few paces when a woman come out from behind a corner of the mansion. She was dark-haired and tall, and carried an oblong, flat basket full of flowers, evidently collected in the garden. Catching sight of the two men, she stopped dead and watched them with an inquisitive gaze.

Guy felt his heartbeat increasing. Seventeen years had passed, but he recognised Isabella at once. Instinctively, he moved forward, fast at the beginning, then slower as to not scare her.

Isabella kept staring at him. As he was coming closer, her expression became increasingly shocked.

“Guy...” she whispered. Her basket fell from her suddenly weak hands, and the flowers scattered on the ground in a multi-coloured heap.

“Isabella...” Guy answered softly, halting in front of her. He stared at her unforgotten face, seeing the changes that had come with age, like the small expression lines around her eyes, the finer features, the softer curves of her body.

Isabella scrutinised her brother’s face in the same way, noticing its changes. Its more serene expression was what struck her the most.

Drastan had stopped and was now watching them, waiting in a discrete silence, his breath bated, unwillingly affected by the nervousness he had perceived in Guy during the whole way from Nottingham. From his friend’s behaviour, he had realised that this woman was Isabella. Appearing all of a sudden, she had nullified the reason of his presence here – that is, announcing her brother’s arrival as to avoid the shocking surprise – but now it was done, and he could only wait and see what happened.

With a sob, Isabella moved a step forward and slung her arms around Guy’s neck. Immensely relieved, the black-clad baron crushed her to him, a lump closing his throat because of his deep feeling. He heard his sister bursting into tears and laughter at the same time, and his eyes dampened.

Drastan crossed his arms over his chest, smiling content for his friend, and patiently waited on.

After the emotional storm had calmed down a little, Isabella withdrew from the embrace and wiped her wet cheeks with her hands. Then she took a step backwards and abruptly slapped Guy, so hard, he turned his face to the side. Stunned rather than sore – Isabella’s strength was nothing, if compared to some blows he had received in the past from Vaisey or from adversaries – Guy brought his hand to the struck cheek and turned to look at his sister, completely bewildered.

“This is because you didn’t show up for seventeen years!” Isabella cried as an explanation, then she laughed joyfully and threw her arms again around his neck. “I am so happy to see you, brother mine!”

After a moment of understandable hesitation, Guy hugged her again.

“I deserved it”, he admitted softly.

Drastan had instinctively taken a step towards the two of them, fearing Isabella had suddenly transformed into a wild cat ready to gouge Guy’s eyes out, but now he saw her hugging him again, and Guy reciprocating her, therefore he stopped.

After a minute, Isabella withdrew again and recovered her composure.

“Welcome to Thornton, Guy”, she said, the formal words tempered by a warm tone.

“Thank you, little sister”, he answered, struggling to keep his emotions under control. “You look great, you’re gorgeous.”

“Thank you... You, too, look much better than seventeen years ago”, she answered, tilting her head to one side to watch him closer. Yes, his features were definitely more relaxed than at the time, though they bore the signs of the years that had passed. “But what are you doing here? And what did you do in all this time? Why did you never look for me?” seeing him opening his mouth to answer her string of questions, she hushed him with a gesture. “No, one thing at a time... Let’s go inside! Your friend too, but before, you must introduce him to me.”

She slipped one arm under her brother’s and, forgetting the flowers, she headed for Drastan. Guy couldn’t but walk along with her.

“This is Sir Drastan of Greenmere”, he said once they had joined the fair-haired knight. “My friend and my right-hand man at Nottingham. Drastan, this is my sister, Lady Isabella of Thornton.”

Drastan bowed politely.

“I’m very honoured, Lady Isabella”, he said.

“The honour’s mine, Sir Drastan”, she replied lively. “Please, come!”

They got into the house and Isabella led them to the small hall, then she went looking for a maidservant, ordering her to bring a carafe of wine.

Returning to the hall, Isabella seated herself on the bench beside her brother. Drastan chose to remain standing next to the window, at a certain distance so he could give them some privacy.

“Why didn’t you come earlier?” Isabella asked. “I missed you so much...”

“And I missed you”, Guy confessed, grasping her hands. “If I’m here today, ‘tis only thanks to my wife...”

“You got married??”

“A little over one month ago”, Guy confirmed. “To Violet of Chetwood.”

“Violet? The apple lass?”

“Precisely her; and it was she who encouraged me to look for you. I felt too ashamed, because I knew you weren’t happy to marry Thornton and I thought you could hate me...”

“In the beginning I actually detested you”, Isabella admitted. “You had sold me to him like a property, an item, and I thought that yours had been an execrable and unforgivable behaviour. And of course I was terrified about what could happen to me in the hands of the perfect stranger you had given me to. However, it turned out well, because Stephan proved kind and correct towards me.”

Guy didn’t conceal his relief from his sister in hearing that what he had hoped for was confirmed.

“I chose Thornton as your husband because he impressed me favourably and not only for the money he was giving me in exchange”, he explained. “After all, I could obtain that money even from someone else, or by other means”, he smirked bitterly as he recalled Violet’s words, when she had pointed out that he could have forced Isabella into prostitution, instead of having her honourably married off, but he didn’t say that aloud. “Anyway, ‘twas a risk, as after all I didn’t know well my brother-in-law-to-be and I could be wrong”, he looked into Isabella’s eyes, his hands still holding hers. “Believe me, this thought haunted me, but I chose to hide it deep down and to pursue my ambition to gain back Gisborne. For years, I pretended with myself that I didn’t care about you or anyone else, in order to fulfil my purpose, and I damned my soul to achieve it.”

“And... did you succeed? In your purpose, I mean?” Isabella asked softly.

“Aye, but no thanks to me.”

At that moment, a middle-aged woman came in and Guy paused. The servant carried a tray with a jug and three goblets, and she placed it on the table.

“Our best wine, as you ordered, m’lady”, she announced.

“I’ll serve it myself”, Isabella decided. “You can go, Berta. And send Noah for Sir Stephan, asking him to join us here.”

The servant curtseyed and exited as Isabella poured some wine to her guests. At that moment, Guy recalled the gift he had brought for her.

“I forgot something in my saddlebag”, he said, then he turned to Drastan. “Could you go and take it for me, please?”

“Of course”, the fair-haired knight nodded, heading swiftly for the door. He returned a few minutes later and handed the bundle to Guy, who gave it in turn to his sister.

“Violet made it for you”, he announced. Intrigued, Isabella quickly opened the packet and, as soon as she recognised the contents, she smiled, delighted.

“A _pain d’épices_!” she cried, “I tried so many times to reproduce the one our mother used to bake, but not knowing the original recipe, I never succeeded... Is this similar?”

She looked at Guy quizzically and he shrugged. “Very, as much as I can tell. Do you want to try it?”

“Of course! But I need a knife...”

“I can take care of that”, Drastan offered, taking his hunting knife from his belt. Isabella nodded and placed the open bundle back on the table. While the knight busied himself cutting three slices, she handed one goblet to Guy and another to Drastan. The latter took it with a thanking nod and, grasping one slice of the sweet bread, discreetly walked again to the window.

Isabella bit into her slice and savoured it carefully.

“You’re right, it tastes like our mother’s”, she affirmed, delighted. “Thank you for the thought, Guy...”

“Again, ‘tis thanks to Violet, ‘twas she who suggested it to me.”

“How nice of her! I always liked her, and now I like her even more”, Isabella declared. She took a sip, and Guy did as much, then both placed their goblets on the table and resumed their chat.

“What do you mean, you achieved your goal but _not thanks to you_?” Isabella queried, then she wrinkled her brow, recalling something else Guy had said. “And what do you mean, you _damned your soul_?”

“I put myself to an evil man’s service”, Guy told her quietly. “Vaisey of Nottingham. Promising me his help to regain Gisborne or to give me another estate, he made me do wicked things. Then he died and I ended up taking his office.”

“You became sheriff in his place?” Isabella blurted, amazed.

“Aye, a pro tempore office Prince John appointed me to. And that’s not all, as by marrying Violet, I became the new baron.”

Isabella’s eyes widened in astonishment. “How’s that possible?”

Guy proceeded to explain the dynastic reasons that had placed the title of Baron of Nottingham in his hands.

“I would have never thought that the sweet Violet could have the boldness to ask a man to marry her”, Isabella commented in the end, without hiding her perplexity.

“Violet is actually a sweet woman”, Guy confirmed. “However, she knows her stuff, and under her sweetness, there’s a strong and intrepid character. As I told you, _she_ was the one to convince me to look for you and then to come here”, he nodded toward his friend, who was sipping at his wine in front of the window. “She also suggested that Drastan should announce me, as to avoid giving you a fright...”

“But I messed it up”, Isabella chuckled. “Actually, you didn't just startle me, you almost gave me an apoplexy, when I saw and recognised you... At the beginning, I wondered if I should hug or slap you, and I ended up doing both!” she caressed his cheek, where she had struck him. “I’m sorry...”

He shook his head, placing his hand over hers.

“As I said, I deserved it. I should have come for you much earlier.”

“That’s for sure, but now, what’s done is done.”

Guy stared into her eyes, which bore a slightly darker nuance of blue than his.

“You really don’t resent me for forcing you into a marriage?” he enquired.

Isabella drew a deep breath before answering. “No, I don’t, Guy. It took me time – years, actually – but I eventually realised you couldn’t keep me with you and protect me forever. As you were my elder brother and my guardian, the law allowed you to decide for me. You had two options: put me into a convent or marrying me off. You chose the second option, providing me with an honest and well-off enough husband who, in one go, got us both settled. I became Lady Thornton, you a knight...” she frowned as a thought struck her. “After all, thinking about it, I got it better than you,as I acquired a good husband, wonderful children, a serene life, but you instead… you ran into Vaisey of Nottingham’s infernal claws...”

Guy too furrowed his brow. Isabella was right: between the two of them, she had been the luckiest one. Probably, if he would have made different choices, he too would have been luckier. For instance, at the service of another lord he wouldn’t have to do what he had done for Vaisey... but no other lord could have given him Gisborne back. Blinded by ambition, but also by bitterness and anger, he had even perpetrated the crime of attempted regicide in order to achieve his aim. In addition, by some incredible twist of fate that had decreed Vaisey’s demise, he had ended up becoming baron.

The door opened and a man around forty years old appeared on the threshold, his dark hair greying and a short, well-trimmed beard adorning his handsome features.

“Good afternoon, my lords”, he began, then he frowned. “Gisborne?”

Guy stood up, because even if he was a baron now and Thornton a lesser noble, the latter was the lord of the manor and deserved this sign of respect.

“Good afternoon to you, brother-in-law”, he said in a neutral tone, unsure about the welcome he would receive.

At Thornton’s appearance, Drastan had placed down his goblet, quickly joining his friend, his left hand casually resting on the hilt of his sword as if wanting to steady it while walking, but actually ready to unsheathe it. He never forgot that, among his duties, there was also acting as a bodyguard for the new baron and, though it didn’t seem to be any danger afoot, he didn’t know Thornton and didn’t want to take any risk whatsoever.

Guy cast him a sideway glance, appreciating his move, and used it to introduce him. “Sir Drastan of Greenmere, my deputy. Drastan this is my brother-on-law, Sir Stephan of Thornton.”

Drastan and Thornton exchanged small bows, politely but distant.

“I see my wife already provided you with a drink”, Thornton observed, taking his seat at the head of the table and gesturing to his guests to sit down with him. “Well, this can surely be called an unexpected visit, Gisborne.”

“Lord Nottingham”, Drastan corrected him, quietly but firmly. Thornton cast him an icy glance before returning to look quizzically at his brother-in-law.

“I became the baron through marriage”, Guy explained. Thornton frowned.

“The Baron of Nottingham had a daughter?” he enquired.

“No, she’s the daughter of his cousin, his only heiress by royal decree.”

“Ah. That’s pretty lucky, I’d say...”

His remark, expressed with cold cynicism, irritated Guy, but he restrained a harsh reply, because he was in his sister’s house and because, after all, Thornton had no idea which feelings he actually had for his wife.

“Tell me about you two during these years, and about your children”, he invited the Thorntons, wanting to know more.

He and Drastan learned that Isabella and her husband had settled in the latter’s estate immediately after their wedding and had remained there since, except for Thornton’s occasional business trips to Wolverhampton or Birmingham. Three years after the wedding, Isabella had given birth to Marcus, their eldest son, then later to Roland and Gwen.

During the whole time, Thornton’s demeanour was impeccably civil, but cold. It was apparent that he didn’t like much his brother-in-law and even less his right-hand man, therefore, when Isabella invited the guests to stay for dinner and for the night, Guy nearly refused, changing his mind only because his sister was looking at him with pleading eyes.

Guy met his nephews and niece, too. Influenced by their father’s attitude, the two boys treated their uncle with mistrust, unlike the girl who instead showed great curiosity about him and showered him with questions throughout the meal.

When the three children were sent to bed, Thornton too said goodnight.

“I’ll leave you alone: you surely have still a lot of catching up to do”, he declared, with unexpected tactfulness despite maintaining his detached demeanour. “Good night.”

Drastan too stood up.

“If you don’t mind, Guy, I’d retire for the night”, he said, looking at his friend awaiting for his permission. Guy nodded, raising to show respect to Thornton, who nodded towards him in acknowledgment.

“I call for a servant to show you your chamber”, he then said to Drastan, who nodded curtly. Apparantly he returned their host’s cold feelings.

When everyone was gone, Isabella and Guy sat next to one another upon two chairs in front of the fireplace, where the servants had lit a small fire. The two siblings chatted well into the night. Isabella reassured her brother once more that she had a good life: Thornton had proved a good husband and father, authoritarian but just; he allowed her running the household at her leisure; he never let her or their children want for anything; he didn’t beat any of them or their servants; and he went regularly to church. She wasn’t in love with her husband, but she felt affection for him, and very pragmatically, she recognised she had more than most noblewomen.

Guy had no words to express his relief and mentally thanked Violet for having encouraged him to look for his sister and meet her. His decision to marry her off, though mostly born from his egoism, had luckily proved right. Differently than other decisions he had made, he thought bitterly, but he wouldn’t say this to Isabella.

It was then his turn to tell her about himself. As he didn’t want to upset her too much, he skipped the darkest aspects of his career as Vaisey’s right-hand man, and of course he didn’t mention his trips to the Holy Land. Instead, he talked extensively about Violet and about how their relationship had begun, developing then into marriage, and he finished with an invitation to his sister to come and see him in Nottingham with her family. Isabella happily accepted, upon prior consent of her husband.

Finally, late in the night, the two siblings kissed each other goodnight and went to sleep.


	23. Chapter XXIII

Chapter XXIII

Nottingham, September 4th, 1194

“I’m glad to learn that things between you and Guy are going well”, Rebelle commented, after Violet had finished telling her – even getting into rather intimate details – about her experience in bed with her husband.

Rebelle had come to Nottingham from Chetwood to escort a cart with cider barrels for the castle. This would probably be the last time, because after the wedding, her deputy Harry would take her place, because she would take care of Rivendale, both as the lady of the estate and as the head of the guards. Of course, she had taken the opportunity to come and visit her cousin the baroness.

“And I bet that, when you’ll _get to the point_ , you’ll wonder why on Earth you waited for so long”, the young warrior-girl added with a brazen grin. Violet blushed, but she couldn’t blame her cousin, because, if what she had experienced so far was only the premise of the true conjugal joys, she would surely regret the time she had wasted.

“Mayhap you’re right”, she admitted, then she knitted her brow as a thought stroke her. “Or mayhap not. I still need time, and Guy understands this. If I had sped up things, now I wouldn’t be here cursing my lunar cycle forcing me to wait a few days before…” she stopped abruptly, at a loss for words, but she didn’t blush again. Come on, she was talking about her lawful husband! Yet, she didn’t know how to express those concepts so new to her.

“Before experiencing again the pleasure the man you love and who loves you can give to you”, Rebelle completed the sentence for her, for once using a less direct language than usual.

“Guy doesn’t love me”, Violet protested.

“That’s _your_ opinion”, the younger woman promptly replied. “What other possible reason would he have to comply with you reticence? Last night he could’ve taken you without so much of a fuss, and you wouldn’t even mind. Instead, he chose to wait a little longer, to give you time to adjust with the idea that you want him as much as he wants you. There can be no other motive.”

“’Tis just your supposition! If he loved me, he’d tell me, wouldn’t he?”

“Perhaps not, as he might not have realised it yet, or he thinks you don’t return his love and therefore he doesn’t want to express his feelings. Many men think ‘tis a weakness to confess their love to a woman who doesn’t reciprocate it.”

Violet just shrugged, far from convinced.

When Rebelle got on her horse again, after taking her leave, a thought struck her: Violet hadn’t denied her love for Guy. The warrior maiden smiled secretly: she was envisaging for her cousin a future married life as happy as hers…

OOO

In the late afternoon, Guy and Drastan returned from Stafford. Guy dismissed his right-hand man, exhorting him to go to Rivendale, while he would go looking for Violet. He found her in her garden, intent on picking herbs. Bent over a low rosehip shrub as she was plucking its fruits, Violet had her back to Guy, who couldn’t help but notice her sensual rear curves, that her position revealed under the skirt. He felt a predictable tension in his breeches, but he mastered himself, because this wasn’t the right time nor the right place.

“Violet”, he called, quietly as not to scare her. She straightened her back and turned. Seeing him, she smiled.

“Welcome back! How did it go?” she asked immediately, eager to learn the news.

“Fine… certainly better than I expected. Isabella isn’t mad at me, or at least, she isn’t anymore. She has a good marriage, three healthy children and she’s satisfied with her life.”

Talking, Guy moved near her. Stopping in front of her, he grasped her hand and lifted it to his chest.

“Thank you for convincing me to go looking for her and then visiting her”, he concluded. “I’ll be grateful forever.”

Violet took half a step forward, placing her other hand on his chest.

“I’m very happy you and Isabella could made up things” she declared. “Did she appreciate the gingerbread?”

“Very. She too thinks ‘tis practically identical to our mother’s.”

“I’m glad to hear this. And did you invite them to come visiting us?”

“Of course I did, and they will come for sure, in a while.”

“Wonderful, I can’t wait to meet your sister and her family. You must tell me everything, every single detail!”

“I will, definitely”, Guy assured her. “But better if I go now and take a bath.”

“I can arrange for the servants to bring it to your bedchamber.”

“I can take care of it myself, you stay and finish here.”

Stooping a little, he brushed her lips with his and left. Smiling cheerfully, Violet went back to the rosehip fruits, then she moved to the verbena leaves and to the hop inflorescences, placing everything in her wicker basket. When she was finished her picking, she carried the herbs to her workroom, where she prepared them for the drying process. When she was finished with her task, it was almost dinnertime. She quickly washed her hands in the basin, using the water from the jug – she had it renewed on a daily basis – and then she headed for her bedchamber in order to change the plain tunic she used for her herbalist’s work with something more elegant. Still unaccustomed to the constant presence of servants, she remembered to send for Sally only when she was almost there. The maid came in just minutes later and helped her donning the rich gown in dark red velvet, with golden-thread embroidery in the form of flowers decorating its neckline, and then doing her hair, expertly fixing her dark tresses with long golden pins decorated with garnets of an almost identical shade as the dress.

During dinner, and later in Violet’s bedchamber, Guy told his wife the details of his encounter with Isabella, Thornton and their three children, as well as his impressions.

“I’m very happy that you found your sister again”, Violet declared, placing her empty goblet on the table. “I don’t understand why your brother-in-law treated you so coldly...”

“Mayhap he despises me for having given him Isabella as a wife in exchange of money”, Guy hypothesised, sipping at the particularly dry and sparkling green apple cider.

“He’d have no right”, Violet commented, furrowing her brow. “Business takes two people, so if he thinks you _sold_ him Isabella, then he _purchased_ her, hence he’s as much responsible as you are.”

Guy cast her a glance, once more struck by her perspicacity and common sense.

“I’ve never looked at it this way”, he admitted.

“Who stays out of the thing, often has a better overview”, Violet pointed out, and he nodded in agreement.

OOO

Three days later, Violet spent the whole afternoon tending her herbal garden. The weather was particularly warm to be the beginning of September, so when she was finished, though she hadn’t done a very hard work, she was drenched in sweat, in spite of her summer attire and the straw hat she was wearing.

When she returned to her chamber, it was late afternoon. She ordered the tub to be filled up in the new bathroom, which had been built in the chamber next to hers and finished just a few days earlier. For her greater convenience, a door had been carved in the wall between the two rooms.

Awaiting for the servants to bring the warm water – passing through the outer door opening onto the hallway – Violet washed away the sweat from face and neck using a cloth, dipped into the jug full of water she always kept in her bedchamber. Her moon cycle was over since the day before and therefore nothing prevented her to have a nice lukewarm bath.

Sally handed her the phials of scented oils she had taken from the shelf they were kept, along with sponges and towels. For a change from her usual flower fragrance, this time Violet chose rosemary and sage, the former invigorating, the latter deodorant. Sally helped her taking off her garments and entering the water. The underside and the walls of the bathtub were covered in linen cloths, with a small mat on the bottom for a greater comfort.

“Shall I wash your back, m’lady?” Sally offered, soaking a sponge in the scented water.

“Thank you”, Violet accepted, bending forward and hugging her knees to facilitate the maid. Sally passed the sponge on her back several times, vigorously.

Someone knocked at the door.

“Who’s it?” Violet asked immediately, preceding Sally.

From behind the wooden panel, a well-known baritone voice reached her. “’Tis me, Guy.”

For a moment, Violet thought to tell him he should come back later, but it was perfectly normal that a husband attended his wife’s bath – and besides, she reasoned as her heartbeat increased, this wouldn’t be the first time he saw her naked.

“I’m taking a bath”, she warned him anyway, though he probably knew it already, as he was knocking at the bathroom door and not at her bedchamber. “Come in.”

Guy entered.

“Good evening, my lady wife”, he said, closing the door behind him. “I hope I’m not bothering you.”

“Of course not”, Violet answered. Under the heated gaze of those azure eyes, she felt suddenly very hot. “What... do you think of the new bathroom?” she asked hastily, in order to divert his attention from herself. Not that she minded being the focus of her husband’s interest, but in the presence of others – in this case Sally – she preferred otherwise.

This was the first time that Guy was seeing the new bathroom and therefore he looked around carefully, though he would much more prefer keeping his eyes on the spectacle of his naked wife in the bathtub. He noticed that the floor was covered in thin tiles of smooth stone and that it slightly sloped towards a small iron grate at the centre of the room: He had no trouble figuring out what its purpose was: this way, if water would spill over the rim of the bathtub, it would flow towards the grate and drain away easily. Across the room, on the outer wall, stood a fireplace, now unlit, which in winter would provide a pleasant heating. Several shelves showed everything one could need for a bath, such as ampoules of scented oil, small baskets with desiccated herbs and flowers, towels, washcloths, sponges.

“Certainly very comfortable”, he commented, then an idea came to his mind. “Sally, get a tub for me too. I want to have a bath with my wife.”

Now _that_ was an intriguing idea, thought Violet. Seeing her smug face, Guy felt his heart skipping a beat, because it showed that she too was as eager as him to be together in intimacy again.

Sally didn’t blink at that – after all, it was customary for husband and wife to take a bath together, even in the same tub if it was big enough – and she quickly placed down the sponge to leave the room and give the needed instructions.

Guy approached Violet, who didn’t make a move to cover herself. It was anyway useless, as he had already seen everything of her. The memory coloured her cheeks pink, not out of a sense of modesty, but out of the excitation she felt at the thought that soon they would repeat the experience.

Seeing her blushing, but not taking her eyes off his nor covering herself, Guy guessed what her thoughts might be and felt the usual tension in his groin.

“Do you like the idea of taking a bath with me?” he asked in a low voice, a corner of his mouth curving upwards.

Violet addressed him an impish smirk that stole his breath.

“Oh aye... very much.”

Her answer, uttered in a slightly husky voice, sent arrows of desire in his loins. Not only was it apparent that she desired him, but it seemed she was aware of it. Perhaps this evening she would feel ready to become truly his wife... He couldn’t be sure, but he hoped it greatly.

Shortly after, a racket at the door announced the arrival of the second bathtub, which two servants were carrying. Four more sturdy men followed them, bringing each two large buckets of water. Though the presence of male servants was common also during a lady’s bath, Guy felt jealousy biting his guts because other men could see his wife with no clothes, but the servants knew better and kept their eyes carefully averted.

Sally came in and addressed the baron:

“What scent d’you prefer, my lord?”

“Cedar”, Guy answered, as he loved the fresh and citrusy aroma of this essence. In a few minutes, the tub was filled and, as the servants left, Sally added the bathing oil. Guy took off his jacket and placed it on a chair. The maid put the flask quickly away and moved to help him disrobing, but he shook his head.

“I’ll do it myself. You can go, we’ll call when we’re done”, he said in a peremptory tone. Sally curtseyed to her master and mistress, and left.

Guy took off his black shirt and turned again to Violet. Catching her watching him with wide eyes, he thought she felt apprehensive and therefore he cast her a tiny reassuring smile. He saw her expression turning voracious and his breath caught in his throat as he realised that Violet wasn’t feeling fear, but desire.

Desire for him.

His throat dried. For a vertiginous moment, he considered the option to lift her out of the tub and carry her directly to bed. However, this was precisely the attitude he was making a point _not_ to keep, as not to frighten her. His goal was to make her crave for him making love to her, until she would beg him to take her, so that she would be aware of her desire as to be entirely hers and not a reflection of her husband’s or, even worse, a duty she had to perform.

His virility, now completely awakened, pressed painfully inside his tight breeches. He considered tearing off the garment, but perhaps the sight of his nudity in its full masculine glory would disturb her, so he preferred to reassure her first. “You’re more desirable than ever, my wife... but I remind you that nothing will happen that you don’t want to.”

Violet nodded. She was absolutely certain of this, but she was grateful he had made it explicit, showing once more his regard and thoughtfulness.

Guy sat and slipped off his boots, then he stood up again and got rid of his breeches. Tossing them to the chair with the rest of his clothes, he cast a sideway glance at Violet and caught her staring, her face avid and vaguely bewildered, directly at the symbol of his manliness. It jerked in response to her gaze. The desire devouring him dimmed his vision and mind. With an effort, he forced himself to resist and enter his own bathtub instead of jumping into hers. He sat facing Violet and propped his shoulders on the rim, trying to relax.

Uncertain about what she should say, Violet decided to pick up a neutral topic. “How was your day?”

Trying to distract himself from too ardent thoughts, Guy began telling her and she listened attentively. After a while, Violet grasped the sponge still floating in the water and began rubbing herself, first one arm, then the other. The movement attracted Guy’s attention, and he couldn’t avoid staring at the journey of the sponge to her chest and then lower. One breast peered out from the water, its dark areola surrounding the slightly visible bead of her nipple, and the words died in his throat.

Not hearing his voice anymore – which sound she had come to love – Violet lifted her gaze and saw him staring at her with hungry eyes. A sudden warmth flared up in her belly, alongside a vibration, still new to her, that journeyed down the well of her femaleness.

A primal instinct made her straighten her back, so the other breast emerged. She passed the sponge first around one, then around the other, moving them sensually, Guy’s eyes – glued on her – setting her more and more ablaze. Without realising it, she parted her lips and heaved a sigh full of desire.

Hearing it, Guy felt his throat go dry. He swallowed as his blood began roaring in his ears.

“Violet...” he groaned. It was half a warning, half a plea.

“Guy...” she gasped in return, breathless.

Guy could resist no longer. He grabbed the rim of the tub and got to his feet, splashing water everywhere, then he climbed over the edge and in two steps he was next to Violet’s tub. He extended his hand to her in a gesture that was more inviting than peremptory. Dropping the sponge, Violet seized it and stood up, the perfumed water streaming down her body. Guy looked all over her, devouring every delicious curve with his eyes, lingering on the dark triangle of curls at the joining of her thighs. His mouth watered as he imagined himself savouring the nectar of her feminine flower, which nobody had ever tasted.

He placed one arm around her shoulders and bent pass the other one behind her knees. Violet held on to his neck as he lifted her out of the tub.

Realising they were both dripping with water, Guy thought it was no good soaking the bed. He placed Violet down on her feet and seized a towel, draping it around his wife and helping her quickly to dry herself, then he did as much for himself with another towel.

Their eyes met again.

The towels fell on the ground simultaneously.

Guy felt as if burning in a fire no other woman had ever set on him. However, he was more determined than ever to restrain the fierce desire shaking him and to make Violet feel not only his passion, but his tenderness too. He cupped her face and closed in on her lips.

“Violet... my blossom...”

His voice was so sweet that Violet felt her knees trembling. She angled her head, moving towards him. Guy didn’t make her beg and placed his lips on hers, finding them already parted. With a gasp, he shoved his tongue forward to caress hers. Violet responded with an urgency that set him even more afire and threatened to shatter whatever little control he still had of himself.

Violet looped her arms around Guy’s back and pressed herself to him, pressing her breasts to his muscular chest. Against her abdomen, she felt the hardness of that peculiar part of the male body she would have never thought to want inside of her as she wanted it now. She wanted to become Guy’s wife in all respects, here and now. Instinctively, she rubbed her pelvis against him and she heard him groan.

Feeling her all over him, Guy burst into flames.

“Violet...” he grumbled. “You don’t know what you’re doing to me...”

“Nay”, she admitted. “As much as I don’t know what you’re doing to me... Guy, I... I want to be your wife... now!”

Guy’s blood rushed to his groin, and at the same time, his heart soared. He enclosed Violet in his arms and drew her close to him.

“And I want to be your husband”, he whispered on her lips, before kissing her again, with a fervour that didn’t come just from under his belt but from his soul too. She responded with equal fervour.

Breaking off their kiss, Guy lifted her again in his arms and hurried into her chamber, where he placed her down on her bed, on top of the covers. He lay down next to her and cupped her face again to look into her eyes.

“Thank you”, he simply said. Violet realised he was thanking her for the gift of herself she was about to concede him, but also for trusting him.

“Nay, thank _you_ ”, she whispered back. “For your respect, your patience, your understanding...”

“You’re the most beautiful and precious thing that ever happened in my life”, he declared, in a low and thick voice. “You deserve everything I can give you.”

Inclusive his heart, he thought. And she deserved, too, that he told her as much. He drew in his breath to voice the words, but she moved her face to his and kissed him deeply, almost desperately, with an urgency that stole his breath and thoughts. He couldn’t but respond with equal ardour.

Violet lifted one leg and placed it over Guy’s, drawing him even closer to her. Guy responded surrounding her waist with one arm and returning her hold. They turned on the bed, him on top of her. Violet parted her legs, ready to welcome him, and uttered a sensual lament feeling the tip of Guy’s virility brushing her female access. Guy rocked his hips, rubbing himself against her, on the verge of entering her, but he held back at the last moment, recalling his purposes.

“Not this fast, my heart”, he whispered to her. He lifted his head to look at her, a naughty smirk curling the corners of his mouth. He saw her returning his gaze looking a little lost, and his smile broadened, filling up with promises. He lowered his head and placed tiny kisses on Violet’s neck and throat. Against his lips, he perceived the wild beating if her heart, corresponding to his own. He slid even lower, moving on his arms as he drew a path of small kisses on Violet’s chest, and then coming back to the soft mound of one breast to reach its apex. He took the hard bud into his mouth, sucking gently. Hearing Violet’s moan, he increased the suction and stimulated the other nipple with his fingertips. She ran her fingers through his hair and moaned louder. Encouraged, he switched his ministrations from one breast to the other, lingering there for a few moments before moving on to his goal and realise the desire that had caught him earlier: tasting Violet’s secret essence. The previous time he had gathered it from his fingers, but now he wanted to savour it directly.

He slid down her quivering body, placing more kisses along the way, between her breasts and on her belly, nipping delicately at her warm, herb-scented skin. With feathery fingers, he brushed her bundle of pleasure and Violet gasped. Moving his fingers lower, Guy placed them on her soft petals, already moist with the dew of her desire.

At his sensual touch, Violet whimpered. She felt a gush of heat between her thighs and a tremble shook her. Guy placed his mouth onto her most private spot. At first, he brushed her with his lips, then he began to use his tongue. At the new, explosive sensation, Violet started and uttered a high-pitched cry, breathless. Guy clutched her hips firmly to avoid losing contact and thrust his tongue inside of her, slowly, as to get her used to it. Not content to hear her moans of incredulous pleasure, he spied her reaction. Her head thrown back, her body arched upwards and her hands clutching the bedcover, all these signs confirmed that Violet was happily enjoying his ministrations, with an abandon that thrilled him to the point he forgot his own need. He concentrated on her, fondling her with lips and tongue, alternating between suckling and licking deep inside of her.

Violet was a slave to an irresistible whirlwind of pleasure. Her breathing came faster and faster, her whimpers louder, her tremors more frantic. When she finally reached the peak, a long, piercing moan, almost a sob, escaped her lips as her depths convulsed and shook in completion.

Guy accompanied her through her orgasm, slowing down the rhythm of his ministrations as it proceeded. When her spasms ceased, he caressed her with a few tiny kisses, then he propped on his elbows. He licked his lips, still covered in her nectar, savouring it once more, and looked at her.

Violet lay on the bed, her hair wildly spread around her head, her expression ecstatic, her breath still ragged, her body relaxed in satisfaction. She was the most erotic and together the sweetest vision Guy had ever seen in his entire life, and his heart swelled up.

Perceiving his gaze, Violet cracked her eyes open and returned it. Trying to calm down her breath, she inhaled and spoke. “Guy, this was… indescribable… “

“ _You_ are indescribable”, he murmured, climbing along her body to lay down again at her side. “If you like this so much, I’ll happily do it each time you want to… even on a daily basis”, he added, his voice husky.

Violet felt her depths quivering at that enticing prospect.

“Oh, aye”, she blurted, then she blushed hard because of her brazenness and looked away from her husband’s face. He put his index finger on her cheek to make her looking back at him.

“No modesty between us”, he exhorted her. “You’re my wife. This means you can express yourself freely, with me. In bed as well as outside the bed. Understood?”

Violet absorbed his words and nodded. Then, her brow furrowed in an almost surly expression.

“But… we still haven’t joined”, she said in a nearly scolding tone. Guy smiled.

“We’ll fix this soon”, he promised. “There’s no hurry, we have all night.”

“You mean you’re going to make me skip dinner?” she asked, a naughty sparkle in her eyes. He chuckled.

“I wouldn’t dream of it!” he assured her, “‘Tis my duty feeding you, so you can keep your strength, especially tonight… We’ll call for the servants and dine here in your bedchamber, all right?” he suggested.

She put her arms around his neck and pulled him to her.

“Aye”, she accepted. “But on one condition.”

“Anything you want”, Guy promised, a little surprised by her unexpected request.

“Now you’ll let me do to you what you did to me…”

“But…”

“No buts”, Violet cut him off, shoving him on his back on the pillows. “You have just told me I can express myself freely, haven’t you? And I take immediate advantage of it…”

Guy felt his throat going dry. Violet was pure gold, he realised. He wondered what he could have possibly done to deserve her, he who had stained his soul with so many misdeeds. Then he felt his wife’s hands touching him in a most intimate way and his thoughts flied away. He heaved a sigh of pleasure.

“You’ll have to teach me”, Violet reminded him, fondling his erection that, under her ministrations, turned even more solid.

“You’re doing very well”, he muttered, closing his eyes to enjoy better her caresses.

“No”, she contradicted him. “I told you I want to do to you what you did to me… kissing you in the special way you kissed me.”

Guy’s eyes shot open.

“Are you… sure you want to do that?” he enquired. His male tower was already quivering at the idea of Violet’s lips around it, but she was completely new to the love games and he wasn’t sure she knew what she was in for. Of course, he had told her the previous time and Violet hadn’t looked disgusted at all, but between words and deeds there’s often a great difference.

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t ask”, she declared in a slightly reproaching tone. “By now, you should know that I never say things I don’t think.”

She was right, he knew it. But he hadn’t dared to hope that this would apply in such a complete way even in the bedchamber.

He nodded.

Violet smiled at him, then she bent down to kiss him. Mirroring what he had done earlier, she brushed his tongue with hers, exploring his mouth in a both sensual and sweet way, no longer shy but with increasing passion. Then, she lowered and kissed his neck and his chest, teasing his nipples with her lips and teeth until he was sighing in excitement. Then she continued her journey down to his flat abdomen, nipping at it. Following the path of dark hair, she reached the nest of curls from which the shaft of his virility rose. She placed her lips on its head with a kiss that surprised him with its firmness, confirming his wife’s determination in wanting to give him pleasure this way. He shivered in delight.

Following her husband’s directions, Violet parted her lips and pushed her head downwards, encompassing him, and started to suck. Guy groaned. He rolled his eyes backwards before closing them, overwhelmed, as she pleased him in a still inexperienced, but very promising way.

Violet began going up and down his sceptre, closing one hand around it. Guy started fidgeting in the bed, like she had done shortly before. His breath became increasingly laboured and his laments louder as his completion approached. Just moments before the high point, he moaned a warning. “Violet, I’m about to...”

He wasn’t sure she would appreciate receiving his seed in her mouth, as he had told her previously, but she held him firmly, undeterred, and a few seconds later Guy was swept away by a pleasure so intense that he was left completely breathless, unable even to cry out. He dug his fingers into the mattress as his whole body shuddered in uncontrollable tremors. Eventually, he fell back onto the covers as the last shivers travelled up and down him, slowly subsiding.

Violet milked every warm drop from him, without any repulsion: this was the liquid from which a new life could start, there was nothing sordid in it. And anyway, it came from Guy, and she was willing to accept anything from him.

When she felt him relaxing, after the tremors that had shaken him, she let go of him. His flavour was a little salty, maybe vaguely bitter, she considered as she lifted her head to look at her husband, abandoned on the bed as she had been earlier. She wanted to ask him how she had done – from the result, the answer was obvious, but she would have liked a confirmation – however the knowledge of her inexperience inhibited her.

Guy heaved a sigh of bliss and opened his eyes. Pleasure still fogged his gaze, but his eyes cleared quickly when they met his wife’s, looking at him quizzically.

“My wife, you’re pure gold”, he murmured, voicing the thoughts that had crossed his mind earlier.

Instead of blushing like she had expected, Violet felt proud of herself.

“Thank you, my husband”, she answered. The name was no longer formal, but intimate and exciting.

She rose and ascended Guy’s long and muscular body to lay next to him. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her closer, and she rested her head on his shoulder. 

They stayed like this for a while, touching each other softly. Then, little by little, their mutual caresses took a different direction, becoming more sensual, until Guy turned Violet on her back and propped on his elbow, looking at her.

“Now I’m going to marry you properly”, he declared huskily. Violet felt a warmth spreading in her belly that she now knew well and returned his gaze, feeling full of expectation.

Guy brushed her cheek and she closed shortly her eyes, appreciating this tender gesture. Then she opened them again.

“Make me your wife”, she exhorted him in a low voice.

Guy bent down for a kiss that began tenderly, but became soon heated. Violet surrounded his back with her arms and pulled him close, longing to feel his skin against hers. He kept kissing her, more and more ardently. His hands started wandering on Violet’s body, outlining the curves of her breasts, then of her waist and hips, descending along one leg. As she had done earlier, Violet bent it to place it over Guy’s leg, and he caressed the rear part of her thigh. He climbed it, reaching the roundness of her derrière, dipping his fingers into it. Surprising her, he lifted her and, turning on his back, he placed her over him, slipping his knees between hers. This way, Violet’s warm femininity touched his virility, now again firm and ready for her. Moving his hips, Guy rubbed his hardness against her softness, eliciting sighs of pleasure from her.

Violet felt as if burning, an almost unbearable heat between her thighs, right where Guy was touching her so erotically. It came naturally to her to rock her hips in counterpoint, rubbing herself in turn against him. She felt the tip of his male rod parting her petals, starting to enter inside of her, and she moaned, a slave to a craving she never would have thought she could feel.

Guy felt himself slipping inside of her, but he stopped just at the beginning, wanting to get her used to the sensation of invasion she would certainly feel, but Violet had a mind of her own. Acting on instinct, she lowered her pelvis and made him slid deeper inside of her. Guy groaned. This was so wonderful! But she has too inexperienced to lead the love dance, as she would have to do in this position. Therefore, he clutched her hips and stopped her. “Wait, my love...”

Turning her on her back, he slipped out of her, and she uttered a disappointed sound.

“Don’t worry... I’m not leaving you”, he reassured her, positioning himself again. He rotated his pelvis until he found the right angle, then he moved, slowly sinking into her welcoming warmth.

Violet felt Guy’s flesh filling her and held her breath, the sensation she was feeling overwhelming her, not only her body but her soul too. It was as if she had been incomplete so far, and now she was finally whole. She parted her lips and breathed a soft moan.

Noticing Violet was holding her breath, Guy stopped, fearing he was hurting her, but right after, she let out a lament clearly expressing pleasure. Reassured, he thrust further, until he was completely buried inside of her.

He froze for a few moments, giving time to her body to adjust to his. Then he started moving, carefully still, trying to understand which way was the best to give her pleasure.

Violet remained motionless for some time, savouring the sensation of Guy’s movements within her, then, again driven by instinct, she began rocking her hips in counterpoint to her husband’s, like she had done when she was straddling him. This way she increased the width of their movement and the pleasure coming from it. A stupefied moan escaped her lips.

The sound set Guy afire, and he increased the speed of his thrusts. Realising he was being too hasty, he tried to slow down, but Violet uttered a dissatisfied sound that induced him to keep the new rhythm. He focussed on restraining the tide of pleasure already rising inside of him, determined to guide Violet to the top before letting himself go.

Violet felt as if wrapped into a cocoon of blissful sensations, so strong, she was having a hard time to believe that what was happening to her was real. A spasm crossed her depths, then another, heralding the pleasure that was coming. The sensation increased, as well as the speed of the contractions, and a few moments later, Violet was hurled into the whirlpool of completion, so intense that her vision dimmed and her mind clouded. A wild scream escaped her throat, and a moment later, an equal scream, but of a much lower tonality, echoed into her ears: Guy. Her husband had joined her immediately into the most exquisite of conjugal joys.

For long moments, both felt as if floating in another world, made of pure delight and complete fulfilment. Then, slowly, they became aware again of themselves and of the surroundings.

Guy had pressed his face into the pillow, next to Violet’s. Now he lifted his head to look at her. He met her bright gaze at once and smiled at her, more with his eyes than with his lips.

“’Twas wonderful”, Violet whispered. “Much more than I had expected...”

Guy’s smile broadened.

“Glad to have exceeded your expectations”, he commented, then the logic conclusion of Violet’s statement struck him. He arched an eyebrow. “You mean... you pictured this moment?”

Violet hesitated, suddenly slightly embarrassed, but then she recalled Guy’s invitation to always be herself, with him.

“Aye”, she confessed therefore, sincerely. “And I did it often. With fear at the beginning, as you know... then, with curiosity, and then again, with... desire.”

Guy felt flattered. He had guessed she had been eager to get to this point, but hearing her admit it was something different.

He brushed her lips with a kiss.

“I’m even happier I was able to fulfil your desire”, he murmured. “’Twas worth waiting for it... Every waiting day, every waiting hour has been worth it.”

They exchanged a few kisses, with the tenderness of fulfilment. Then, suddenly, Violet remembered something he had said. Her heart leaped in her chest and began thumping hard.

“What... what did you call me, earlier?” she asked, almost stuttering. He wrinkled his brow in the effort to recall it.

“When?” he asked.

“Before turning me on my back… saying you were not going to leave me...”

Guy tried to collect his thoughts, but it was difficult to remember something in the fog of passion that had shrouded his mind.

“I don’t...” he began, then all of a sudden he recalled it and he snapped shut his mouth.

He had called her _my love_.

He could pretend he didn’t remember it, he thought. Or he could tell her that it was only an expression, and that men often say they love a woman when in bed with her, without meaning it seriously. However, Violet was his _wife_ , not _any woman_. And he had already told her she was pure gold. For both these reasons, she deserved the truth from him. She deserved it _always_.

“ _My love_ ”, he therefore answered, looking into her eyes. “And I mean it, because I love you.”

Violet blinked a couple of times as the meaning of Guy’s admission sank into her mind.

Guy loved her?

She felt tears of joy welling up in her eyes.

_Guy loved her._

She cupped his cheeks.

“Guy of Gisborne, Baron of Nottingham, husband mine... I love you too.”

Guy’s lips curled slightly, but his eyes brightened into the sunniest of smiles.

“Violet, blossom...” he whispered, before kissing her fervently.

After a long exchange of kisses, Violet asked him. “When did you realise you loved me?”

“Drastan realised it before I did”, Guy admitted, chuckling. “The very day after our wedding, when I told him I didn’t force you into consummation”, he cast her a glance, suddenly worried about his indiscretion. “I hope you don’t mind too much, if I told him such a private matter...”

Violet shook her head. “Drastan is your best friend, and he’s my friend too. And anyway, I told Rebelle. And she realised I desired you from the first wedding night, but I didn’t know it because... I had never learnt what desire was.”

The reference to her past, horrible marital experience made Guy wish once more that he could throttle Roganton.

He chased away the annoying thought of Violet’s first husband and focussed back on her.

“And now that you know what desire is, ‘tis my understanding that you like it...” he provoked her with an allusive grin.

Violet refused to take the hint.

“Very”, she replied, mirroring his smirk. Guy felt a hot shiver going through him, because he had just had confirmation that a delicious – to say the least – married life was awaiting him...


	24. Chapter XXIV

Chapter XXIV

Nottingham, September 8th, 1194

Guy awakened, a sunbeam falling on his eyelids disturbing him. He cracked his eyes open. A shaft of light breached through the not perfectly closed shutters, reaching directly the bed. Here, it followed the shape of his body and landed then on Violet, who was sleeping in his arms under the covers.

He moved away as not to be blinded and propped on one elbow to watch his sleeping wife’s face in the dim light. After they had made love, they had called for the servants to take away the water of the bathtubs and clean the bathroom. Then husband and wife had dined and later, they had returned to bed and made love once more, before falling asleep in each other’s arms. One corner of Guy’s mouth curled up into an amused grin. He could almost hear the gossip going around in the castle, whispering about the baron who had slept all night long with the baroness – again! Well, the chatter would soon end, because sleeping together would become routine, because he liked too much keeping Violet in his arms after their lovemaking. And not only in this circumstance, as he liked the physical contact with her, even if it was just touching her hand during their meals, for instance.

As if his thoughts had called her, Violet heaved a sigh and stirred, then she froze and opened abruptly her eyes, maybe not frightened but surely surprised. This was just the second time she awakened with a man at her side and she wasn’t clearly used to it.

“Good morning, my wife”, he greeted her in a sweet way. She smiled so happily that a lump formed in his throat.

“Good morning, my husband”, Violet reciprocated. She was still incredulous about what had happened between them, not so much for the consummation of their marriage but, above all, the confession of their mutual feelings. She would have never believed she could feel a state of absolute bliss like the one she was experiencing now.

Guy reached for her and kissed her lips. Violet slung her arms around his neck and clung to him. The kiss deepened, initially sweet, and then turning gradually fiery.

It didn’t take long and the room filled with new lovingly sighs.

OOO

“This morning you look thoroughly satisfied”, Drastan grinned as he and Guy were heading for the stables. They had to go to Bonchurch, where the sheriff’s presence was required. Guy had told Drastan his progress in the bedchamber with Violet and his ecstatic expression was a very clear proof that things had evolved further.

“I have good reasons for it”, Guy admitted, speaking in a low voice. “I spent the whole night with my wife.”

Drastan laughed. Not understanding the cause of his hilarity, Guy furrowed his brow and glared at him, but the fair-haired knight didn’t look impressed.

“I don’t think you spent the whole night with Violet just _sleeping,_ am I right?” Drastan provoked him, he too speaking in a soft voice.

Guy rolled his eyes. “Of course I didn’t just _sleep_ with her! But once again, I went easy.”

Drastan sobered.

“Well done”, he said, “And how did it go?”

Guy’s face softened, his mouth hinted to a smile, and Drastan understood everything.

“’Twas worth the wait, then”, he commented, smiling in turn.

“Aye, absolutely”, Guy answered. “I didn’t dare to hope in such a passionate response…”

He broke off, fearing he was being too indiscrete, but after all, he was talking to Drastan, his best friend as well as best man, he remembered to himself.

“A fiery woman, then”, Drastan stated, still softly. “Like my Rebelle”, he looked at his friend. “We’re lucky men, my friend.”

Guy nodded, but didn’t add more because they had reached the stables, where the grooms quickly saddled Darkshadow and Mjolnir. Guy and Drastan climbed on their horses and headed out of Nottingham.

At Bonchurch Hall they were welcomed by Eve, Much’s betrothed. The newly appointed master of the estate had freed her from her state as a serf, so he could marry her. They had fallen in love despite her being a spy in the pay of Vaisey, who hoped to induce Much to give him information about Robin Hood through her. When the old sheriff had discovered Eve’s turnaround, he had her arrested and would surely have her hanged, but she had managed to escape. When Robin had assigned Bonchurch to Much, the latter had looked for her and then he had asked her to marry him, but before he had to make her a free woman. Their wedding was due one week after Drastan’s and Rebelle’s, in September.

Guy expected a certain mistrust from Eve’s part, because he had been Vaisey’s right hand and the late baron had almost had her hanged, but she behaved in a courteous, though not exactly cordial, way, and had them seated in the hall offering them cool beer from the cellar.

They were drinking when Much joined them a little later.

“Welcome to Bonchurch”, the young man said. He was more or less Robin’s age. “Thank you for coming.”

His behaviour was still quite nervous when it came to Guy, even if he was trying to hide it. Guy pretended not to notice it. He knew that he had still a long way to go to win Much’s trust, as well as Robin’s and all of his Merry Men’s. And he had no guarantee he would ever succeed.

“’Tis our duty”, he answered briskly, then he realised that maybe he had been a little too gruff. It wasn’t easy changing one’s ways, he mused, concealing a grimace. “What’s the problem, exactly?” he therefore added in a nicer tone.

Much sat at the head of the table, taking the place as the master of the manor. He moved a little awkwardly, because this state of things was still new to him.

“A theft, but I suspect that the accusation is false”, he answered, trying to adopt a self-assured attitude like one could expect from a nobleman, though very recently created..

“And that’s why?” Drastan enquired. He liked Much, having met him on occasion, and he considered him an honest and very loyal man, that were character traits he liked in anyone.

“The man charged with theft is Paul Guilford, Master Giles’ son. The lad says he knows you personally, Lord Nottingham.”

The sheriff nodded in confirmation. “True. He works at the reconstruction of Knighton Hall. As far as I know, he’s a good lad, following his father’s steps and one day he’ll become an excellent master mason like him”, he frowned. “I have a hard time believing he’s a thief. Who’s accusing him?”

“Ellis, the master saddler”, Much answered. “He says he has caught him in his workshop in the middle of the night. Paul admits he was there, but he denies completely he ever meant any theft.”

“Well, what was he doing there, then?”

“He doesn’t want to tell, but I suspect he was visiting Tetsy, Ellis’ daughter.”

Drastan arched an eyebrow. He could easily imagine the situation, as he too, when he sowed wild oats before meeting Rebelle, had gone on secret meetings with many lasses…

“And what does _she_ say?” he asked.

“She refuses to comment, and if what I suspect is true, I’m not surprised, as her father is quite the abusive type and he could slay Paul for attempting at his daughter’s virtue, or slay her for allowing Paul to do it.”

Drastan’s face darkened, because if he despised someone without appeal, it was a man who laid his hands on those who were weaker than he was, such as women, children and elderly people.

“Firstly, we need to clarify the reason of Paul’s presence in Ellis’ workshop”, Guy decided. “If ‘tis true that he was there for Tetsy, but he doesn’t want to say it because he doesn’t want her involved, we have to convince him we’ll protect him and the girl and that no one will receive any harm”, he stood up. “Where’s the lad?”

Drastan and Much rose in turn.

“I took him into custody and I locked him up into the barn”, the Master of Bonchurch answered, walking to the door. “Please follow me.”

They exited the mansion and crossed the courtyard, heading for the wooden building hosting the barn. Two sturdy farmers garrisoned it, armed with quarterstaffs. When the three noblemen entered, they found Paul sitting upon a bale of hay, his hands tied to one of the posts supporting the upper floor. His fair hair was ruffled, and he had a shiner and a split lip, ostensible signs that he had been beaten up.

The boy looked eighteen or nineteen years old. As soon as he caught sight of Guy, he rose and addressed him the hint of a bow, hindered by the strings.

“Sir Guy…” he began, then he corrected himself. “Lord Nottingham, I’m very glad to see you!”

Guy pondered about the fact that, just months before, nobody would be _glad to see_ him. His heart warmed up at the thought that this boy was counting on his help to fix whatever trouble he had ended up into.

“Who did this to you?” he asked in a peremptory tone. “What mess have you walked into, laddie?”

Paul’s shoulders sagged.

“’Twas Ellis, my lord, but I’m no thief, I swear to you!”

“I believe you”, Guy reassured him. “However, you’ve been caught in Master Ellis’ shop. He says you were there to steal something, but you deny it. So, ‘tis your word against his, regarding your intentions, but the fact remains that you were in his home without his consent. What were you doing there?”

Paul looked away.

“I wasn’t there to steal anything”, he insisted. “I cannot say more.”

“Are you afraid to dishonour Tetsy’s name?” Drastan interfered, his sympathy transpiring from his tone.

Paul blushed, but said nothing.

“Listen, laddie”, Drastan went on. “They told us Ellis is an abusive man, but you mustn’t fear his retaliation, neither for you nor for her. We’ll see as to keep him away from you two, but we need to know”, he concluded.

Paul looked troubled.

“Can you really keep Tetsy away from Ellis’ clutches?” he asked, looking for reassurance.

That was almost an admission, Guy realised.

“Of course we can”, he guaranteed.

“And how?”

“This depends on many factors, beginning from the true reason you were in the saddler’s workshop.”

Paul gulped, trying to chase away his fears.

“I wasn’t in the workshop alone”, he confessed at length. “Tetsy was there too. We were... kissing. You know, we love each other...”

His voice failed when Guy frowned.

“If you love her, why didn’t you act openly, asking Master Ellis for permission to woo her?” he enquired. “You’re no penniless man. You have a good job and one day you’ll inherit your father’s business. You can offer her a dignified life. Ellis can’t have any possible objections.”

“But he has instead”, Paul contradicted him quietly. “He wants her to marry Nolan, the wool merchant of Nottingham.”

“What?” Much cried, upset. “That depraved old man?” he turned to Guy. “Even the prostitutes want nothing to do with that... that swine! What Ellis wants to do is... revolting!”

Guy knew well Nolan’s reputation. He was the richest wool merchant in the county, and perhaps even of the surrounding counties, and he was frankly disgusted.

“I suppose Tetsy opposes her father’s plan”, he commented, an affirmation more than a question.

“Absolutely!” Paul cried. “She loves _me_!”

“So you want to marry her?”

“Of course I do! But without her father’s permission, the only way is eloping together... I told my father about this and he’s willing to protect us. We wanted to go to Sheffield and get a monk or a priest to marry us, and then we would return to Knighton Hall to my father. I went to see Tetsy to tell her about all this and fix the day of our run when Ellis caught us...” he brushed his bruised eye. “He punched me, and he would’ve beaten Tetsy too, if I wouldn’t have shielded her with my body...”

Guy turned toward Much.

“Where’s the lass now?” he asked.

“Knowing Ellis’ violent nature, I entrusted her to her aunt, the brewer’s widow.”

“Well done”, Guy said. Much blushed because of the unexpected praise and straightened his back, all content. “Let’s go talk to Tetsy. If we can persuade her to confirm Paul’s version, the matter is settled.”

Drastan cast a glance to the youngster, still tied to the post.

“Let’s take him with us”, he suggested to Guy. “His sweetheart will trust him surely more than us, therefore he’s more likely to get her to talk.”

Guy nodded, agreeing with his deputy. Drastan used his knife to cut the rope tethering Paul’s wrists, then he grasped his arm and urged him on, following Guy and Much who were already leaving the barn.

A few minutes later, they arrived at the house of Tetsy’s aunt and Much knocked resolutely. The door opened almost before he was done, a sign that they had seen them coming, and a stout, fair-haired woman appeared on the threshold.

“Good day, Magda”, Much began kindly, but firmly too. “We need to speak to your niece”, he added straightaway. The woman cast Guy a mistrusting glance and he glared at her in return.

“Come on in”, Magda said, stepping aside. The four men followed her into the modest kitchen acting as living room as well, a messy but clean enough room. Tetsy was intent on cleaning wild herbs. As soon as she saw them coming in, she rose wiping her hands on her apron. She was a girl around fifteen, blonde and quite pretty. Catching sight of Paul, she covered her mouth with her hands.

“Oh Paul... how are you?” she cried, clearly concerned.

“He’ll be fine”, Guy cut her short, but in a rather kind tone. “Let’s come to the point at once. As you know, your father accuses Paul of theft in his workshop, but Paul says ‘tis not true and that he was there for you, because you two were planning to elope in order to avoid your marriage to another man. Do you confirm this?”

Tetsy’s blue eyes widened.

“I… I…” she stuttered, visibly very frightened.

“’Tis all right”, Paul intervened. “Lord Nottingham guaranteed me he’ll keep you away and safe from your father.”

The girl seemed to relax slightly, however she still hesitated.

“But if my father won’t give his permission to our wedding, we won’t get anywhere”, she objected.

“If he doesn’t give his permission, I can do that as your lord, Tetsy”, Much declared, raising to his full height.

Guy cast him a surprised glance. He had always been used to see Much as a simple-minded, clumsy man and his appointment as a lesser nobleman made him smile a little, but he had to admit that the man had always proved brave, honest and trustworthy, in both the Holy Land and here. There were greater noblemen who weren’t as good as him – the old baron had been one of them. Much would be a valuable master for Bonchurch.

Tetsy looked at Much with immense gratitude.

“My lord, you have a good heart!” she cried. “Thank you!”

“Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Sir Much!” Paul cried too.

Much glanced from one to the other with obvious pride, but also with a little embarrassment.

Guy spoke again to Tetsy. “Well, lass, do you confirm Paul’s version?”

“Aye, my lord, I confirm it”, the girl declared at this point.

“But Tetsy!” Magda intervened, approaching her niece. “Are you sure? Paul is only a mason, if you would marry Nolan instead, you’d be very rich....”

Tetsy glared at her aunt.

“I don’t care to be rich if I have do spread my legs to a man even whores want nothing to do with!”

Magda gasped, but Guy couldn’t tell if the reason was her niece’s explicit language or the concept in itself.

“I think the situation is clear”, he announced. “But for the law, I must hold a public trial. We’ll do that in the square of Bonchurch.”

Much nodded, but he seemed a little lost. Drastan intervened. “We’ll need a few benches and a table. Who can I ask for them?”

“Ah... Eve. She’ll issue the necessary orders”, Much answered, rousing from his daze.

“And someone must send for Master Ellis”, Drastan went on.

“Sure”, the Master of Bonchurch nodded, shaking definitely off his bewilderment. “I’ll send Gerald, my intendent.”

Less than half an hour later, everything was ready. Instead of benches, Eve had brought them two chairs with cushions for Guy and Much and a stool for Drastan. Now they were all sitting behind a trestle table covered in a cloth sporting Bonchurch’s colours, blue and black, that had become Much’s insignia. Guy thought that Eve was a perfect hostess and that, despite her humble birth – anyway not very different than Much’s – she was worthy of the title of Lady of Bonchurch.

A small crowd – the hamlet’s villagers – had gathered around the perimeter of the square and was quietly awaiting the developments. Some were peeping at the sheriff with scared faces, others looked just curious as they had heard rumours about Guy’s improved attitude. His rise to Baron of Nottingham had taken them all aback.

“Master Ellis, come forth”, Much commanded in a clear voice. From the crowd emerged a tall and sturdy man. Unlike his sister Magda, Ellis had raven-black hair streaked with grey and a short, well-trimmed beard adorned his chin. He wore an elegant tunic and a pretentious mantle. He was ostensibly a vain man who loved to appear grander than the simple, though well-off master craftsman he was, and it was as much ostensible that he wanted to use his daughter to improve his condition, marrying her off to a rich merchant, whether she liked it or not. However, to succeed in this he needed to maintain his daughter’s pristine reputation. Therefore, instead of accusing young Paul of having seduced her or at least of having tried to seduce her, resulting in a shame wedding, he had decided to accuse him of attempted theft, so he would keep him away from Tetsy and go on with his plans. Ellis was counting on his own status, but he hadn’t expected the scrupulousness of the new Master of Bonchurch, who had demanded to get a clear grasp at the whole situation.

He began marching smugly towards the trio of noblemen, but meeting the sheriff’s grim stare, Ellis’ shoulders began to sag and his gait became hesitant. When he stopped in front of Guy, he seemed _deflated_. Drastan looked at him up and down without concealing his despise, as he had realised this was a man capable to take it out only on the weak, but peed in his pants in front of the stronger or more powerful.

“Master Ellis”, Guy began cut-and-dry. “You accused Paul Guilford here of trying to steal from your workshop. Do you confirm you accusation?”

Ellis felt the sheriff’s eyes piercing him and was tempted to deny. Then he glimpsed the lad he had caught kissing his daughter and he saw red, because Paul risked to ruin his plans to get rich with the marriage he had arranged for Tetsy. He straightened his back again.

“Of course I do”, he answered arrogantly.

Guy kept watching him in silence, for so long that Ellis began to feel uneasy once more.

“I tell you he was stealing from my workshop”, he affirmed, but his voice was not very steady.

Guy kept silent and just raised an eyebrow. Ellis realised the sheriff didn’t believe him, at all.

“’Tis true, I swear!” he cried in an almost desperate tone, because he was well aware that, should the sheriff not believe him, he had no chance.

“Paul instead says he was there for Tetsy”, Guy declared at length, pretending indifference.

“What? Nay!” Ellis denied quickly. “My daughter is an honourable and untouched maiden! And she’s already promised!”

“She doesn’t agree”, Drastan replied, along Guy’s line.

“Of course she’s promised. I gave my word!”

“I didn’t say she doesn’t agree on the fact she’s promised”, grinned Drastan, naughtily.

Ellis turned as white as a sheet at being publicly portrayed as unable to guard his daughter’s virtue.

“I don’t understand why she’d say the opposite!” he cried, acting as if flummoxed.

“Because she loves Paul and wants to marry _him_ , not whoever you chose for her”, Much intervened.

“I demand that a physician examines her!” Ellis then bellowed, suddenly furious. “He’ll prove she’s still a virgin and doesn’t need a shame marriage! And I’ll never give my permission for her marrying that penniless chap!”

“I have an excellent job”, Paul made himself heard, in a firm tone that surprised everyone, considering his position and age, but apparently, his love for Tetsy gave him courage. “And in a few years I’ll take over my father’s place. He’s Giles Guilford. And I’ll be a master mason”, he took two steps forward, a defiant glare well visible in his not swollen eye. “I can give Tetsy a decent living.”

“I’d rather kill you!” Ellis yelled, snapping out of his mind. He looked as if ready to jump on the youngster and beat the crap out of him, despite the presence of his master, the sheriff of Nottingham and the latter’s deputy. Drastan sprang up from his stool, knocking it over, and took three quick paces toward Ellis, his hand on the hilt of his sword, ready to unsheathe it. Seeing him advancing on him, the saddler withdrew, his face suddenly terrified.

“You won’t kill anyone, at all”, the blond knight growled. “Now the sheriff will pronounce sentence and you shall accept it. Otherwise, the one ending up killed will be _you_. Have I made myself clear?”

Ellis swallowed hard and nodded. _Coward_ , Drastan thought, disgusted.

Guy leaned back on the chair, looking at Ellis with an expression identical to his deputy. He spoke loud enough that everybody could hear. “In this case, we have Master Ellis’ word against young Paul Guilford’s, but Tetsy confirms Paul’s version and not her father’s. Therefore, I decree that Paul Guilford is acquitted of attempted theft against Master Ellis.”

“And I, as the Master of Bonchurch, grant Tetsy Ellis’ daughter permission to marry Paul Guilford”, Much added.

Ellis deflated again and staggered backwards. No one made a move to go and help him. Instead, all eyes were set on Paul with support and to the trio of noblemen with respect. It was evident where the audience’s favour rested.

Ellis straightened again and cast a murderous glance to Paul. Guy, who hadn’t taken his eyes off the saddler, noticed it, and his brow wrinkled in a quite nasty frown.

“Ellis!” he thundered, springing up. The artisan gave a start and turned his gaze to the sheriff, immediately frightened, and even Drastan whipped around to look at his friend, startled. “Don’t even think about it! These two young people are under my personal protection and, should anything happen to them, even slightly suspicious, know that the gallows await you!”

Ellis’ chin almost hit the ground and the man seemed to shrink out of sheer terror.

Drastan turned again towards him.

“You heard the sheriff!” he growled, “I strongly suggest you to pray for the health and fortune of your future son-in-law...”

His ferocious grin showed clearly that he was having fun at the bully’s expense.

Ellis stared at the fair-haired knight, completely stunned. Plainly defeated, he bowed low in acceptance of the sentence.

Satisfied, Guy relaxed again, leaning onto the back of the chair.

“Tetsy will stay at her aunt Magda’s until the wedding”, he decreed. “As for you, Ellis, you will stay well away from her and from Paul. And as I guess you won’t give her any dowry, I will take care of that”, he slid one hand under his jacket and took out a small suede pouch, then he poured the content on the table and picked up three gold coins. “Here it is.”

Paul widened his eyes at this unexpected action. Tetsy and her aunt were standing in the back of the crowd, and witnessing this scene, they both dropped their mouths.

Much wanted to act like the sheriff, so he grabbed his own pouch and took out eight silver coins, adding them to Guy’s gold coins.

“And here’s my contribution”, he announced. A number of the bystanders started to clap their hands and in a moment, the rest joined in an ovation for both their feudal lord and the sheriff.

Much felt moved, because he didn’t think he had done anything extraordinary. After all, helping people in need was what he did also as an outlaw with Robin’s gang.

Guy instead felt incredulous because this was the first time he had gained such a warm approval from the peasants. The feeling was incredibly agreeable, almost like a kiss from Violet, and it made him nearly as much euphoric.

He chose not to show openly his emotion and only softened his expression a little bit.

“Well, I’d say we’re done here”, Drastan announced, standing. Seeing Guy nodding in confirmation, he turned to the saddler. “Ellis, you can go, but remember well what we told you.”

Ellis bowed again and took three steps backwards as it was appropriate for a peasant dismissed by a nobleman. Then he turned and, trying to keep up his appearance, walked away. His face was dark and looked like promising foul things, but the blond knight felt quite sure that Ellis would never dare to go against the baron’s orders.

“’Tis almost midday”, Much observed, casting a glance to the position of the sun. “My lord, I’d be honoured if you and Sir Drastan would have your meal with me.”

Just a few months earlier, or even just a few weeks, he would never believe he would willingly share a meal with Guy of Gisborne, he thought. However, the circumstances had changed deeply, and both he and his ex-enemy were now on completely different social standings than before.

Guy was in a rush to go back home to Violet, but he couldn’t refuse such a courteous invitation.

“Alright”, he therefore accepted. “As long as ‘tis something quick…”

He ignored Drastan’s knowing glance and followed Much to his mansion. As soon as Eve learned they would stay for the midday meal, she immediately issued the appropriate orders to the kitchen.

They had a simple meal, as Guy had wished, with a tasty beef stew with vegetables and porter beer. Delicious pears followed, cooked in wine and sprinkled with honey. Drastan didn’t skimp on compliments for Eve, who beamed at him to the point Much felt a hint of jealousy. But when her large sky-blue eyes locked with his, full of love, the new Master of Bonchurch realised he had no reason to worry.


	25. Chapter XXV

Chapter XXV

Nottingham, September 8th, 1194

Rebelle had moved to Rivendale Hall for two days and she had invited Violet to come and see her. Being eager to tell her cousin about the last developments of her relationship with Guy, Violet decided it was the right moment for a visit. Therefore, after her husband had bidden her goodbye and left for Bonchurch, she returned to her bedchamber to change, donning an outfit suitable for a ride.

Before heading for the stables, Violet asked Sally to go get a guard for an escort. While she was waiting for the groom to saddle Snowflake, Sergeant Ralf showed up. Since Violet healed his son Reggie from measles, he never missed a chance to help her.

“My lady, Sally told me you wish an escort”, he said after bowing to her.

“Aye, I’m going to Rivendale Hall to visit my cousin”, Violet confirmed smiling at him warmly. “Pick a horse.”

Cedric, the chief groom, quickly saddled a destrier for the sergeant. Shortly afterwards, Violet and Ralf left the castle and headed for the city gates. 

“How’s your family?” Violet enquired.

“They’re fine, my lady, thank you”, Ralf answered. “Reggie talks about you all the time. I think he’s love-struck”, he added laughing. Violet too laughed, touched. Then she thought about Guy and the fact he had told her he was in love with her – she could still hardly believe it – and she felt her heart pounding.

When they arrived at Rivendale Hall, Ralf leaped from his horse and helped the baroness to dismount, then he took the bridles of both horses and crossed over to the stables to tie them to the special rings on the wall. The stables were still almost empty, as Rebelle and Drastan hadn’t many horses yet.

Violet headed for the entrance to the mansion, but before she had a chance to use the bronze doorknocker, the door opened and Rebelle appeared on the threshold.

“Violet, what a nice surprise!” Rebelle cried, hugging her cousin. “I saw you coming”, she then added, withdrawing to let her in. “Mawa!” she called. A few moments later, a woman showed up. She was around thirty years old, and had a rather plump build and fiery red hair. Violet knew her because she was related to Maud, Chetwood Manor’s cook.

“Hullo, Mawa”, she greeted her.

“Good morning, Lady Violet”, the servant smiled at her and then turned to Rebelle. “My lady?”

“We’ll have drinks in the hall”, Rebelle said. “And tell Lady Violet’s guard he can go to the kitchen and have a tankard of beer, if he wishes.”

“Aye, my lady. What can I get you? Beer, cider, wine, water?”

Rebelle glanced at her cousin, inviting her to choose.

“Cider and water”, Violet decided. “But don’t bring them immediately. Little cousin, would you show me your house before?”

“Of course!” Rebelle accepted with enthusiasm.

The mansion was just a little smaller than Chetwood Manor. An addition they had done in view of the wedding was a bathroom on the ground floor, copied from the one in Violet’s family house. When they visited the main bedchamber, Rebelle admitted chuckling that she and Drastan had already _inaugurated_ it. This reminded Violet about the night she had just spent in her husband’s arms and consequently the second reason why she had come visiting her cousin, besides seeing the renovated house.

Something in her attitude made Rebelle suspicious. Recalling what Violet had disclosed to her the previous week, she guessed at once what had happened.

“And you and Guy?” she asked her. Violet’s smile was a sufficient answer. “When happened it... last night?” Rebelle pressed on, smiling in turn.

Violet nodded.

“You were right, you know?” she said. “Lying with a man can _really_ be wonderful. I already had a... taste, as you know, and I thought it was amazing, but I didn’t believe it could get even _better_...”

Rebelle chuckled contentedly. She was very happy for Violet.

“Tell me everything”, she exhorted her. “How did it start?”

“I was taking a bath...”

Violet described her experience in detail, but keeping a certain modesty. When she finished, Rebelle was grinning from ear to ear, recalling something she had told Violet months ago.

“Do you remember that time when we were bathing together? When we spoke about men and I said I wished there were two like we dreamed them to be?” she asked her. Violet needed a few moments to recall the memory, but then she did remember and nodded. “I would never expect to be fulfilled in such a perfect way”, Rebelle continued. “And in such a short time!”

“I even less”, Violet confessed.

“Come on, let’s go and have a toast!” Rebelle exhorted her. They went back downstairs where they sat down in the great hall. Hearing them coming, Mawa quickly fetched them their drinks. Rebelle dismissed her and personally poured the cider into the goblets, then the two cousins toasted to each other’s conjugal happiness.

“I bet you now regret you waited for so long”, the warrior maiden couldn’t help herself but teasing her cousin.

Violet laughed, then shook her head.

“Actually, no. It wouldn’t have been as much wonderful if I had rushed things, forcing myself to lie with Guy before I was ready. Anyway, ‘tis all him, because he took the time to wait for me and he was able to teach me little by little what marital love truly is”, she smiled at Rebelle. “And I speak about love with good reason”, she concluded in an allusive tone.

Rebelle placed her goblet down and raised one eyebrow.

“What do you mean?” she enquired.

“I mean the way _you_ too can speak about marital _love_ ”, Violet explained as her smile broadened. “Guy told me he loves me...”

Rebelle’s smile broadened too.

“Really? That’s wonderful!” she cried.

They toasted again, then they spoke about the imminent wedding. Rebelle informed her cousin that she would wear a feminine dress – that Mary was sewing at Chetwood Manor, as she was a very good sewer – in silk, blue and golden, being these the colours of her family. But under it, she would wear her usual breeches.

“And mayhap a knife tucked in your belt”, Violet grinned.

“You can bet on it!” Rebelle admitted laughing.

“I wouldn’t expect less of you!”

“Never! Or else it wouldn’t be me...”

“You’re so right...”

Violet stayed for the midday meal, then by mid-afternoon she took her leave in order to return home, with Sergeant Ralf escorting her. They were over halfway to Nottingham when, from behind the tree cover, in this place rather thick, suddenly eight full-armed men appeared. Five assailed Ralf and the other three ran towards Violet.

Unsheathing his sword, Ralf yelled. “Run, my lady!”

Snowflake reared neighing wildly, frightened. As she was an excellent rider, Violet controlled her horse and turned him around, trying to spur him into a gallop, but one of the attackers was quicker and seized the reins, yanking at them to bring the stallion to a halt. Violet lashed out a kick to the aggressor’s head, but he stepped aside and took it on his shoulder. He staggered because of the force of the blow, but it wasn’t enough to make him loosen his grip on the reins. One of the others pointed his sword at her.

“Don’t resist us, lady, and no harm will come to you!” he bellowed. Violet didn’t heed him and pulled the reins to the right and to the left in the attempt to free them from the scoundrel’s grip, unsuccessfully. Then she tried to have Snowflake starting into a gallop, but a third man came and grabbed the harness on the sides of the horse’s muzzle and hanged on to it with his full weight, immobilising him.

At this point, the rascal with a sword tore the reins out of Violet’s hands.

“Don’t move or your man will die”, he threatened. Violet cast an alarmed glance to Ralf, who had been disarmed and thrown from his horse by the other men. One of them laid the tip of his sword on Ralf’s neck. His destrier had run off in fright and there was no sign of it.

“No!” Violet screamed, trying instinctively to protect the loyal sergeant. She turned toward her assailer, glaring at him. “Alright, sir. I won’t resist any longer, but let my guard go.”

The man signalled to his accomplice, who stooped and grasped the front of Ralf’s tunic, which sported the new black and green insignia of Nottingham. The rascal pulled him rudely up, then he dragged the sergeant toward Violet. The other rogues followed him closely.

“We have a message for your master”, the one holding Snowflake’s bridles announced to Ralf. “Tell him that the three surviving Black Knights took his wife and that if he wants her back, he must follow the instructions contained in this scroll”, he nodded to the villain not holding Ralf, who produced a parchment, rolled up and sealed with wax. “He shall follow them to the letter. Otherwise, his beautiful lady wife will die. Am I clear?”

Ralf cast an anguished glance at Violet. She returned it, trying not to appear as frightened as she truly was. At this very moment, she would have given anything to be like Rebelle or like Marian in the guise of the Nightwatchman, but as it was an inane wish, all she could do was try and survive this mishap with as little harm as possible, going along with her captors or thwarting them according to the circumstances. She made the slightest nod to Ralf.

“You’re clear”, the latter confirmed, looking again at the man who had spoken. His tone and demeanour were submissive, but Violet had seen a flicker of determination in his eyes. Ralf had realised that at this time resistance was futile and that it was better obey to the request. Once informed about what had happened, Guy would decide what to do. Knowing him, Violet was inclined to think that, instead of giving in to blackmail, her husband would organise her rescue. Rebelle, Drastan and Robin would surely join him and wouldn’t stop until they would find her. Whoever these Black Knights were, of one thing she was sure: their days were numbered.

OOO

On the outward journey, Drastan had gathered Guy’s tale about the night he had just spent with Violet – which, for all practical effects, had been their nuptial night – and had felt very happy for his friend. Now, as they rode back to Nottingham, he turned toward him.

“Come on, let’s hurry”, he said. “Your wife will be waiting impatiently for you!”

As he spoke, he spurred Mjolnir into a gallop. The warhorse reacted promptly and sprang forward, always in for a run. Darkshadow shook his mane and snorted, signalling his desire to do as much, thus Guy indulged him. At this pace, they would reach Nottingham in half an hour. Their horses were well trained and used to much bigger weights and efforts than a free run through meadows and woods, therefore they wouldn’t get too much tired.

As they arrived in sight of the drawbridge, Drastan and Guy decreased their horses’ speed to a trot, then to an idle pace. They entered the town and headed for the castle. As they arrived, Guy considered that it was over mid-afternoon and that, if there wasn’t anything compelling requiring his attention, he could as well dismiss Drastan, so he could go looking for Violet to be with her for awhile... possibly in horizontal position.

“You can leave, old chap”, he therefore said, after having made sure there were no urgent tasks to be performed. “Let’s call it a day.”

Drastan grinned broadly. “Rushing to end the day and get your sweet little wife laid, he?”

Guy glared at him, but all he got was making Drastan laugh harder. The sheriff rolled his eyes, exasperated, then he thought about payback.

“I bet you’ll do as much with Rebelle...” he insinuated.

“Of course, unless ‘tis _her_ getting _me_ laid”, Drastan smirked, making Guy chuckle.

“Does your betrothed really love that much taking the initiative?” he asked, intrigued. He wasn’t used to women beginning spontaneously the love games, but now he thought he would appreciate Violet behaving like her cousin, because the idea of being the object of her desire looked appealing to him. _Very_ appealing.

“At least as much as I like it”, Drastan admitted. “I always thought it terribly exciting that a woman would show me how much she wants me, but if ‘tis Rebelle doing it... well, the only thought makes me ready at once”, he concluded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other in a way that made Guy grasp exactly _how much_ he was _ready_.

“Then go to her”, he exhorted him, patting his shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”

At that moment, they heard running footsteps outside the door of the office, which had been left open. Ralf appeared on the threshold. His tunic was crumpled and stained with dirt, and his lower lip was split where he had been clearly and heavily punched. In his hand he carried a scroll.

“My lord!” he cried, out of breath. “Something terrible has happened!”

“Calm down, Ralf”, Drastan exhorted him. “Catch your breath and then speak.”

The sergeant inhaled deeply twice.

“I was escorting Lady Violet returning from Rivendale Hall” he began. “We were assailed by eight armed men. They weren’t bandits, but clearly well trained soldiers. Five of them surrounded me. I tried to fight them, but they were too many and overpowered me...”

His tone expressed clearly his nervousness. He remembered well the way the old baron had treated those who failed their task. Though his successor had proved having been cut from an entirely different cloth, Ralf couldn’t help but considering that previously Guy had been Vaisey’s right-hand man and therefore he still feared the new sheriff would treat him like others in his conditions had been treated in the past.

“They outnumbered you five to one”, Drastan mused. “You couldn’t do much...”

“What about my wife?!” Guy exclaimed, both livid and anguished.

“They captured her, but didn’t harm her”, Ralf assured him. “At least, not as far as I could see. They ordered me to tell you that the three surviving Black Knights have taken her and that, if you want her back, you must do exactly what ‘tis written in here”, he concluded, handing him the scroll. “To the letter, my lord... or she’ll die”, he added in a low voice, clearly very worried.

Guy grabbed the scroll and broke the seal. He unrolled the document and read it quickly. His expression became ominous.

“You may go, sergeant”, he said in a dull tone that barely concealed his fury.

“I’m at your disposal for anything that can help Lady Violet”, Ralf declared right away, but Guy had already turned around to head for his desk.

“We know that, Ralf”, Drastan assured him. “Now go and have that lip mended. Don’t say anything to anyone, for any reason whatsoever. That’s an order.”

“Aye, Sir Drastan.”

The sergeant bowed and took leave. When he was gone, Drastan closed the door and turned to Guy.

“Who are these Black Knights? And why do they hate you so much, even to the point of abducting you wife?” he enquired.

Guy had put the scroll down and was now clutching the edges of his desk so hard that his knuckles had paled. At his friend’s questions, he took a deep breath, then turned.

“Drastan”, he said in an undertone. “What I’m about to tell you mustn’t leave this room. I want your word of honour.”

The fair-haired knight nodded.

“You have my word of honour”, he confirmed.

Guy took another deep breath.

“The Black Knight were a sect, founded by Prince John”, he explained in a very low voice. “It consisted in a number of barons who wanted to help him seize the throne, taking advantage of the absence of King Richard. Vaisey was in charge. Even his sister Davina was part of it, and I, as his collaborator, was affiliated with it.”

He paused to see the effect his words were having on Drastan. His friend stared at him for a few moments with a petrified expression.

“I need to sit down”, he then muttered, marching to the nearest chair and dropping onto it. “You mean you conspired against the king?” he asked for confirmation, still incredulous.

Guy nodded. “I was blinded by ambition and greed of power to the point that ‘twas easy for Vaisey to drag me into his greatest folly. His plan was to put that debauched John on the throne, only in order to get rid of him and to take his place. He could claim the title by virtue of his kinship with the House of Plantagenet through his mother. A few years ago, Vaisey sent me to the Holy Land to kill the king, but Robin of Locksley stopped me. At the beginning of this year, Vaisey devised a new plan, but it utterly failed – ‘twas another of Locksley’s exploits – and therefore, Prince John permanently disbanded the sect. However, Vaisey wouldn’t give up on his ambitions and therefore we went to the Holy Land in order to assassinate the king. Vaisey wounded Richard, but Locksley, along with his gang and Marian, prevented the irreparable. ‘Twas then that I almost killed Marian, who ran to stand between me and the king in order to shield him”, he heard Drastan wheezing at this confession, but he didn’t pause. “When Vaisey died, on the way back home, I decided to change radically my life, to make amends for the many misdeeds I committed at the old baron’s command.”

Drastan signalled him to pause and Guy complied.

“How many people know about all this?” the knight of Greenmere asked in a tense tone.

“Very few who are still alive: Locksley, Marian, Much, Little John, Allan A Dale. Two more members of Locksley’s gang, Will and Djaq, but they stayed in the Holy Land and are not coming back to England. Before the wedding, I told Violet. And now you.”

“So Rebelle doesn’t know anything about this?”

“She doesn’t, and neither does Sir William.”

“And Prince John?”

“He doesn’t know my exact degree of involvement”, Guy stated. “Surely he suspects me of knowing much, as I was Vaisey’s right-hand man, and in my opinion ‘tis the reason he offered me the office of pro tempore sheriff, in the attempt to secure my silence and possibly my support. My plan was to do my best, here in Nottingham, as long as King Richard will be absent, and then, when he’ll come back, I counted on slipping off, to France or Scotland. Vaisey’s death left the title of baron vacant. I didn’t know that Sir William of Chetwood was his nearest heir, but he renounced it in favour of his son. Jeffrey’s death brought King Richard to the decision of passing the title through Violet, and she asked me to marry her...” a thought struck him suddenly. “Drastan, ‘tis all my fault they abducted her”, he declared bitterly. “When they learned about my marriage with Violet, the last three Black Nights must have felt threatened by me becoming the new Baron of Nottingham and therefore an equal to them”, he gesticulated towards the parchment laying on the desk. “And now they’re ordering me to write a confession about my involvement in the sect and give it to them in exchange of my wife, so they’ll have me in their pockets for the rest of my life”, he placed his face in his hands. “And think that, just a few days ago, Violet and I spoke exactly about this, and she advised me to write a document in which I expose them, to put in a safe place and use as a deterrent against them. I wrote it, but I didn’t have the time to warn the rascals and they preceded me, kidnapping her.”

“But who are they?” Drastan enquired.

“The Barons of Buckingham, Spencer and Rotherham.”

Drastan decided that, for the moment, he would ignore Guy’s affiliation to these conspirators and would instead concentrate on Violet’s abduction.

He watched closely his friend’s face, where anguish and anger were mingling.

“What are your intentions?” he asked. Guy’s face turned to stone.

“To go looking for my wife and take her away from their clutches”, he affirmed in a dull tone. “And then, to take them out.”

Drastan nodded: he felt exactly the same way.

“I’m going to help you”, he declared firmly.

Guy looked at him, both incredulous and relieved: incredulous because Drastan, though he knew that he had conspired against the king, was willing to assist him, and relieved because of the same reason.

“Thank you, my friend”, he whispered.

Drastan shrugged.

“I don’t know if I’m doing it only for Violet or for you too”, he admitted. “After all, you’re a traitor of the crown, but for now I don’t want to think about that. What we must now think about is devising a plan. First thing first, we have to go and inspect the place where they staged the ambush and find their traces in order to chase them. But we can’t do it alone.”

Guy stared at him.

“Who do you suggest?” he asked.

“Ralf, obviously, who won’t hear about being left aside. After all, Violet had entrusted him with her safety and he failed. He had no chances against eight men, but knowing him, he feels responsible nonetheless. Then Locksley, as you told me he knows everything. And with him, his men, Much and the others. And Rebelle, of course. Should I try and cut her out, she’d skin me alive.”

“Then let’s get Ralf and go to the ambush site, and meanwhile, send for Locksley and the others, including Rebelle, but we won’t wait for those who aren’t near enough to start immediately in pursue.”

Drastan sprang up and both men ran out of the room, looking for Ralf. They had him explaining exactly where he and Violet had been attacked and Drastan ordered to three messengers to head at full speed for Rivendale Hall, Locksley Manor and Bonchurch Hall, asking their owners to join them at the site where Violet had been abducted. The messengers rushed to the stables, took the swiftest horses and dashed to their respective destinations.

At this point, Guy and Drastan went to take their horses. Ralf received another mount in the place of the one that had run away during the assault. Less than half an hour later, they were in the very spot where the ambush had happened.

Drastan got off Mjolnir and began inspecting the ground. Guy let him take over, because he knew his friend was much better at finding trails than he was.

For several minutes, Drastan examined every footprint and every sign left on the dirt and on the surrounding vegetation.

“They went this way”, he finally said, pointing.

Guy considered the direction.

“They’re heading for Rotherham”, he said. “I expected it, as of the three domains, ‘tis the nearest to Nottingham.”

“How far is it?” Drastan enquired.

“About forty miles”, Guy answered. He checked the position of the sun and realised it was already westering. “We have three hours before sunset, they cannot make it before dark.”

Drastan nodded.

“They cannot travel at night in the forest”, he pondered. “Unless they are willing to risk laming their horses as they stumble over protruding roots or other obstacles. Therefore, they’ll be forced to stop.”

“’Tis applies to us too”, Ralf commented gloomily.

Though they were very anxious to give chase, they settled down to wait for one hour, as they had agreed, to allow Rebelle, Robin and Much – and possibly others – to join them. Rebelle, whose abode was nearest, was the first to show up. She looked furious.

“Who dared to do this??” she cried as soon as she reached shouting distance.

Guy couldn’t tell her the whole story, not with Ralf standing by, therefore he decided for a _lighter_ version.

“Three men of whom I know a secret”, he therefore answered. “A secret that, if revealed, could highly damage them. They want to make sure I won’t breathe a word.”

“It’ll be _them_ who won’t breathe a word anymore, as soon as we’ll find them”, the young warrior maiden growled. “I will personally cut their tongues… and even something else!” She looked around. “What are we waiting for? Let’s go after them!”

“We’re waiting for Locksley and possibly more of his men”, Drastan answered. “We know that eight men staged the ambush, but we cannot know if there are others, so the more we are the better.”

Rebelle wanted to reply that this way they were risking to lose them, but she understood well that her betrothed was right and therefore she reined in her anxiety for action.

A few minutes later Robin arrived at a full gallop, with Little John on an especially sturdy Friesian suitable for his rider’s noticeable size. The big peasant had reconciled with his wife Alice and lived now again at Locksley with her and their son, thus he had immediately answered when Robin had sent for him.

The first question of the Earl of Huntingdon was the same that Rebelle had posed. “Who did this??”

“Spencer, Rotherham and Buckingham”, Guy answered succinctly. Robin stared at him, dumbfounded, then he grasped the implications and nodded. “May they be cursed! If they harm as much as one single hair on her head…” 

“I’ll butcher them with my bare hands”, Guy completed his sentence, in such a terrible tone that everyone’s skin crawled.

“I don’t know if I’ll leave you something to kill, Gisborne, after I’ll have beaten the crap out of them!” Little John growled. He shook his enormous fists, which he was capable of using like mallets against his adversaries, and which devastating effects even Guy had sometimes endured.

“Lord Sheriff, or Lord Nottingham”, Drastan corrected him brusquely. Little John glared at him.

“For me he remains just Gisborne!” he rumbled.

The blonde knight wasn’t intimidated.

“You’ll show the due respect to the baron, yokel!” he snarled. “Or you’ll deal with me!”

“Think I’m afraid of you, blondie?” Little John roared, unleashing all of his touchy temperament. 

“Stop it!” Guy barked. “Let it go, both of you. We have more pressing things to take care of!” He scowled at Little John. “Call me whatever you want. We’ll here to rescue my wife, so if you came to pick up a fight instead, you can leave right now!”

Little John felt a bit ashamed. He had a moral debt with Violet, because not only she had greatly helped Robin and the whole gang, included him, but also because she had healed his son from a bad cough, two winters ago.

“Begging your pardon”, he mumbled through clenched teeth. Guy nodded tersely, accepting his apology.

“I sent immediately a message to Much”, Robin intervened, distracting the contenders. “I think he’ll be here any moment now.”

“I sent for him already”, Guy informed him. “We won’t wait much longer”, he added, gesturing toward the westering sun. “We must begin the chase before ‘tis too dark and we risk laming our horses.”

“Night won’t stop us”, Robin affirmed. At Guy’s sceptical glance, he explained. “My men and I know every single inch of this forest. We’re going to use torches to see the trail and follow a safe path.”

“Excellent” Drastan approved enthusiastically. “We’ll go on, but the scoundrels will surely have to stop, and thus we’ll catch them quickly!”

A few minutes later, Much arrived with Allan A Dale who, by pure chance, was at Bonchurch Hall when the messenger from Nottingham had come in. The young man hadn’t hesitated a moment to join the hunt, he too remembering the help he received from Violet when he was an outlaw.

They started at once in pursuit of the kidnappers. Robin and Little John – the most experienced trackers among them – went ahead of the group, as Guy informed the last two comers about what had occurred. Both Much and Allan expressed feral threats against the crooks.

The hours of the three Black Knights were numbered.


	26. Chapter XXVI

Chapter XXVI

Sherwood Forest, September 8th, 1194

“Let’s stop. Soon it’ll be too dark to go on”, said the man who had introduced himself as Buckingham. He was clearly the leader, a tall and muscular man with icy grey eyes. “We set camp here.”

“Small fires”, one of the others admonished. His name was Spencer, a shorter, stockier man than his accomplice. “And have them into pits.”

This way, the light of the flames would be shielded, making it difficult to detect them at a distance.

Rotherham, the third Black Knight, was leading Snowflake by the reins. He turned toward Violet.

“Dismount”, he commanded her. Thinking that resistance was futile at the present time, Violet obeyed. As soon as she was off the saddle, Rotherham leaped down from his horse, then he seized the prisoner’s arm and dragged her unkindly to a tree with enormous roots. “Sit down and don’t move.”

Again, Violet didn’t resist and seated herself upon one of the roots. Rotherham remained close, keeping an eye on her, one hand on the hilt of his sword. The soldiers – a total of seven, two of them hadn’t taken part in the ambush because they were guarding the road from and to Nottingham – began to busy themselves, digging two firepits, fetching firewood, tethering horses, unfolding bedrolls, taking out provisions from their saddlebags, carrying out their tasks with the typical military efficiency.

It didn’t take long before the camp was ready. One of the man began preparing food.

Rotherham moved a step closer to Violet.

“And so, Gisborne married the sole heir of Nottingham”, he commented. “An heir of whom nobody knew anything about.”

Violet turned toward him, looking at him coolly.

“King Richard knew, and that’s enough”, she countered. Rotherham took another step forward and, bending down, he snatched her chin, forcing her to lift her face. She tried to withdraw, but the baron’s grip became painful and she gave it up.

“Gisborne has truly won everything”, Rotherham commented, looking at her closely in the fading daylight. “Not only the title of baron, but a very good-looking wife too. And moreover, you’re a widow, so he hadn’t even to go through the trouble of teaching you the way to please a man in bed…”

Violet used both her arms to knock away Rotherham’s hand and glared at him.

“Someone should teach you some good manners!” she snarled, furious.

“Ho ho, what a fiery character!” he teased her. “I wonder what it would be like taming a mare like you…”

All colour drained from Violet’s face at the thought of what Rotherham could do to her, but she clenched her teeth and kept a bellicose expression. She was actually very scared though.

The baron sneered evilly, then he took two steps back. Violet mentally sighed in relief, trying in every way to avoid giving him the satisfaction to see her frightened, and slowly calmed down. 

Shortly after, a soldier came, one of those who had prepared food. He handed Rotherham a wooden bowl, then he gave one to the prisoner too. Violet peeped at the food – simple strips of dried meat and bread – with a certain degree of mistrust.

“If you’re picky, lady, you deserve an empty stomach”, Rotherham said sarcastically, chewing noisily at his bread. She glared at him. He had no idea what she had dealt with during her life. She bit into the strip of meat.

“I am a healer, sir”, she retorted in a sardonic tone, eating open-mouthed on purpose. “I observed excrements, vomit, decay and every sort of mucus as they leaked out of human bodies of every age and cleanness degree, or lack of it. Do you really think that some rancid beef and stale bread could disgust me?”

She enjoyed the sickened face Rotherham made at her description. The Black Knight mumbled something unintelligible and moved away. She saw him placing down his bowl and go on walking until he disappeared among the trees. Apparently, he had lost his appetite, and maybe the images Violet’s words had evoked in his mind had him disgusted to the point he had felt the need for fresh air. The young woman grinned inwardly, pleased with her small revenge on her kidnapper.

When she finished her frugal dinner, Violet placed her bowl down beside her. She was thirsty, but she had been ordered not to move and she didn’t want in any way to draw her captors’ wrath upon her, therefore she waited. Soon, the same armiger who had fetched her food came with a canteen and wordlessly handed it to her. Violet took it and drank, then she returned it and the man walked back to the fire, taking the empty bowl with him.

As she had nothing to do, Violet began watching the members of the group. The three noblemen carried fine swords and long hunting knives at their sides, while the armigers had more modest swords and daggers. A couple of them had bows, too, and Violet considered the possibility of getting hold of one, possibly during the night when the owners were sleeping. However, they would surely have sentries and she doubted she would be able to move without being seen. And besides, what could she do, alone against ten men? She could threaten to kill them, but she knew she wouldn’t be capable of it, because she was a healer, she was supposed to _save_ lives, not to _take_ them... Anyway, she decided to keep an eye on the two archers. She alone could do nothing, but when Guy would arrive – and surely he wouldn’t be alone – in the confusion of the fight that would ensue, she could seize a bow and incapacitate a few men by aiming at their arms and legs.

Later, Rotherham returned and tossed her a blanket that stank of horse sweat.

“Sleep”, he ordered. “Don’t try to run, there will always be at least two men on guard who will keep an eye on you.” He gestured toward a sentry sitting a few yards away. “Anyway, for extra safety, I’m going to tie your hands”, the baron concluded, showing her a coil of rope.

Determined not to give any satisfaction to her captor, Violet took the blanket without blinking an eye at the stench and rose, only to crouch down between two roots and pile up some dry leaves in order to create a sort of pillow. Then she stood up again, wrapping the blanket around her shoulders, and stretched out her hands to Rotherham. His frown – which she could see in his wrinkled brow and thinned lips – gave clearly away his frustration. He was very disappointed for having failed in driving her into a whining heap, as one could expect from a spoilt noblewoman.

The Black Knight wrapped the rope around her wrists, tightening it firmly. Scarcely looking at him or at anyone else, Violet clutched the blanket and lay down, then she closed her eyes. A few moments later, she heard the sound of the baron’s footsteps as he left.

Violet lay still. She doubted she would sleep, not much because of the discomfort of her rustic pallet, but because of the fear that Rotherham, during the night, would assault and force himself on her, as he had not very subtly threatened to do. The fact he was a nobleman didn’t reassure her about his intentions. He was a Black Knight and, as such, he was an unscrupulous and disreputable individual. She clenched her fists. She had overcome the disgust and the fear that her former husband’s behaviour had caused her only thanks to Guy’s patience and love, and just now that she was learning how much pleasure and tenderness a woman can experience in a man’s arms, she was risking to be raped. The terrible irony of it had a sob leaking from her throat, born from dismay and bitterness.

What would she do, if Rotherham would truly approach her to rape her? She wasn’t as strong or trained as Rebelle was to try to defend herself, and anyway he could call his two accomplices to have them holding her or even tie her spread-eagled, so that the rapist could have his way with her. And then maybe after the first, the other two would follow, even the entire group.

The horror of that possibility almost overwhelmed her like a black tide, choking her. _Stop it_ , she told herself, fighting the panic arising inside of her. It needn’t to be that way. She had to cling to the thought that she would be well, that Rotherham wouldn’t sink so low and abuse a noblewoman, that he had just wanted to frighten her in an attempt to subdue her. Surely, his and the other two barons’ intent was to ensure Guy’s silence about their membership of the sect that wanted to dethrone Richard in favour of John, and it wouldn’t be a brilliant idea turning Guy against them by raping his wife. And Guy would come to her rescue, one way or other, of this she was absolutely certain.

She relaxed a little and soon afterwards, without knowing it, she fell asleep.

OOO

When it was too dark to discern the traces, Robin got off his horse and took two torches from his saddlebags. In preparation for a night-time chase, he had brought them in good number. He gave one to Little John, keeping the other for himself. After lighting them, they entrusted their horses to the other members of their group and continued on foot, so they could hold the torches close to the ground to see the trail. This way they would move slower than on horseback, but they were not forced to interrupt the hunt.

After about three hours, Robin turned to the rest of the group.

“The traces are fresher”, he announced. “We’re getting closer.”

“How much?” Guy asked, unable to control the anxiety in his voice.

“Two hours, at most”, Little John answered.

They went on. Despite Guy’s apparent impatience – quite understandable – Robin preferred advancing slowly, paying close attention as not to miss, in the darkness, the signs of the passage of the group that had abducted Violet, even because they were moving carefully, leaving few and light traces that less expert trackers than he and Little John could easily overlook.

Eventually, in the small hours of the night, Robin signalled them to halt and get off the horses. When everybody had gathered around him, he spoke in a whisper. “We’re very close. I’m going on reconnaissance to locate their precise whereabouts.”

“I’m coming with you”, said Guy. Robin nodded, as he was expecting it and thought it was useless trying to stop him.

“Keep your torches down”, he recommended, giving his to Much. “And tie the horses. We need to get there on foot and in the dark.”

He and Guy started walking among the trees. When they were far from the dim light of the two torches, they halted to get their eyes used to the almost complete blackness of the nightly forest, which required about twenty minutes. Guy could barely contain his anxiety, as he was awfully afraid for Violet. Had they hurt her? Had they beaten her, or tortured, or worse? He didn’t know the three Black Knights well, but he thought them capable of anything, as they had come as far as to join the sect that Vaisey had led, and for this reason he felt a terrible anguish.

Eventually their nocturnal vision improved enough to move. Robin began advancing stealthily, making no sound like a ghost, proceeding slowly as not to risk stumbling over any invisible obstacle or bumping into some low branch. Guy copied him, reining in his impatience in favour of prudence, because making a noise could mean revealing themselves and jeopardise not only their safety, but Violet’s too.

After moving with agonising slowness for a few minutes, Robin stopped suddenly, silently signalling Guy to do as much, then he pointed his finger to their right side. The baron looked in this direction and, just a few yards away, he discerned the reddish glow of a fire in a pit. No, there were _two_ fires, the second one farther on, still to their right hand. Shadows darker than night lay between them.

They stared at the camp for long seconds, then Robin approached Guy and spoke softly into his ear. “Two sentinels, eight sleepers.”

Guy nodded, as he too had counted ten people.

“Who may be Violet?” he whispered.

Robin shook his head.

“Impossible to determinate in the dark”, he answered. “We have to wait for enough light to see and then we’ll attack them. Let’s go get the others.”

Guy wanted to rush right into the middle of the camp and slaughter them all, but he realised that it would be foolish.

“Alright”, he replied quietly.

Slowly as they had come, they withdrew from the enemy’s camp. Robin retraced their steps with no hesitation and Guy felt impressed, because in this darkness he would certainly go lost. It was apparent that the ex-outlaw didn’t brag at all when he had stated he knew the forest like the insides of his pockets.

OOO

“They’ve been away for far too long”, Rebelle declared, agitated. “We must go looking for them!”

“No”, Little John stopped her briskly. He ignored the warrior maiden’s glare and went on. “Robin knows what he’s doing.”

“I agree”, Much interjected.

Rebelle pulled a face.

“He always had an inclination to get into trouble”, the reminded them. She loved Robin, but this didn’t mean she didn’t see his flaws.

“Not when the life of someone he loves is at stake”, Allan countered. Rebelle was on the verge of replying gruffly, but then she realised the truth in Allan’s words and her shoulders slouched.

“This wait is killing me”, she sighed.

Drastan came up to her and brushed her arm in a reassuring gesture.

“Relax”, he invited her. “You’re beside yourself because of concern and I understand that, but we must be patient.”

She looked at him gratefully, appreciating his support. She nodded.

Long minutes passed by. It was almost one hour since Guy and Robin had set out when they heard a voice. “Here we are.”

Drastan whipped around with his sword drawn, Rebelle unsheathed hers halfway and Little John raised his quarterstaff, which was his favourite weapon and from which he never parted, while Much and Allan, slower that the others, put their hands to their swords. All this happened in an instant, before everyone was aware that the voice belonged to Robin He emerged from the shadows, keeping his arms well away from his body in a pose showing clearly he meant no threat. He knew well his men and Rebelle, knew they were capable of deadly promptness in reaction, and he got the idea that Drastan their equal, therefore he had decided to warn them before stepping into the small circle of light cast by the torches.

Guy appeared behind him.

“Thanks goodness you’re back!” Much cried, relieved. “Did you find them?”

“Aye”, Robin answered. “They’re not far from here. Two sentries. I counted eight pallets, one of them mayhap Violet, but ‘twas too dark to be sure.”

“What are we going to do?” Drastan asked, turning to Guy. The sheriff rose his gaze to the sky they could discern among the tree branches and guessed the hour from the position of the stars.

“Dawn will come in half an hour”, he said. “Let’s go back to the camp and round them up. As soon as there’s light enough, we attack them. Buckingham, Rotherham and Spencer will pay dearly for their misdeed.”

“Do you want to kill them?” Drastan asked. There was no trace of disapproval in his tone, only a request for clarification.

“Aye”, Guy answered through clenched teeth. “Otherwise, they’ll always be a threat, for me and for the people I love.”

“Not only”, Robin intervened. “They’re a threat to King Richard too. The lodge of the Black Knights doesn’t exist anymore, but they can always form another one and plot once more against him.”

“Precisely”, Guy confirmed. Robin gazed at him, lifting an eyebrow.

“You agree with me, Gisborne? Now _that’s_ something new...”

Guy hurled him a black look, but Robin just shrugged. He had only meant to lighten the mood in his peculiar way and he didn’t care if Gisborne had grasped it or not.

“Let’s move”, he said.

OOO

Violet woke up with a sudden start, as if someone had shaken her. She jumped up in a sitting position and looked around her, blinking in the uncertain light preceding dawn, but she didn’t see anyone close to her. The only people awake, besides her, were the two sentinels – not the same as the previous evening – while the others were still asleep, lying wrapped in their blankets next to the remains of the fires.

She wrinkled her brow, wondering what had woken her up. She observed the trees, but dusk still lingered under their branches and she saw nothing. Everything was still, even the two sentries, who were seemingly dozing, but she sensed a kind of tension in the air that made her skin crawl. Slowly, she began moving towards the trunk of the tree under which she had slept, until she had her back against it, her eyes unceasingly searching the close proximity.

After a few moments, she heard the hiss of an arrow sailing in the air on her left side. The sentinel closest to her gave a shout and fell backwards, hit in one shoulder. The others awakened suddenly and in a moment, the entire camp was in turmoil. Violet shrank against the tree, trying to conceal herself, then a booming battle cry drew her attention. She saw Guy’s tall, black-clad shape rushing in from under the trees, brandishing his two-handed broadsword. He leaped right in the middle of the men and wielded his weapon in a lethal arc that fully caught one of the soldiers, almost cutting him in half, and wounded another soldier in a leg. At the same time, from different directions other warriors appeared, and Violet recognised Rebelle, Drastan, Robin, Much, Allan, Little John and Ralf. Tears welled up in Violet’s eyes as she realised that her friends had come to her rescue. She had never doubted it, but seeing them in action, risking their lives for her, moved her deeply.

The fight broke out furiously. The opponent forces were equal – as three of Violet’s abductors had been already taken out – and therefore the melee turned almost immediately to single combats. With a roar, Little John hurled himself at the biggest soldier, whirling his quarterstaff; Ralf, Much, Allan and Rebelle engaged other soldiers; Guy found himself confronting Buckingham, while Drastan and Robin crossed blades respectively with Spencer and Rotherham.

Buckingham was almost as tall as Guy, and sturdier. He was a highly skilled swordsman and was giving his adversary a very hard time. Violet followed the duel with her heart in her mouth. She saw Guy dodging a diagonal sweep, then the blades collided with a metallic clang, so loud that it drowned out the noise of the other combats. A feral grimace distorted Guy’s face, and his eye flashed with a deep but cold anger. Buckingham staggered backwards, but he recovered and attacked again.

Violet’s eyes leaped for a moment to Rebelle, who was struggling with a clearly stronger opponent than her, but the warrior maiden was used to this kind of situation and she largely compensated her disadvantage with her exceptional nimbleness. She dodged most blows in order to weaken her antagonist and to throw him off balance, and then she would strike him as soon as she would catch an opening in his guard.

Violet got back to watch Guy duelling against Buckingham as their fight proceeded with no one having the upper hand. The Black Knight bled from a cut in the arm, probably a superficial wound as it didn’t seem to cause him difficulties. After exchanging a few blows, Buckingham was able to get past Guy’s guard and tried to hit his shoulder. Guy swerved to one side at the very last moment, but a cut appeared on his jacket. Violet brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a terrified scream. She saw Guy’s expression turning even more resolute and he attacked again. Buckingham began to retreat in the face of his charge.

Slightly reassured, Violet decided that she couldn’t just stand by. Even if she was unable to participate in the battle, she _had_ to do something. First and foremost, she had to untie the rope around her wrists. She looked around for something to cut it. The sentry who had been hit first was still lying on the ground, dead or too badly wounded to move, and was just a few yards away.

Seeing her chance, Violet stood and discarded the blanked, then crouched as to not being noticed and quietly stole to the fallen soldier. His sword was laying next to him and Violet, keeping an eye on him in case he was conscious and tried to attack her, she grasped the hilt and withdrew, dragging the weapon with her. At a safe distance, she placed it back on the ground and began rubbing the rope tying her hands on the edge of the blade. She needed only a few seconds, but it felt like forever. Eventually her hands were free and she stood up quickly, her gaze turning again to the fight that was still raging. None of the combatants had fallen yet, but several on both sides were bleeding from different parts of their bodies.

For a moment, a feeling of frustrating impotence overwhelmed Violet, then her gaze fell on another weapon of the guard: his bow. Quickly, she snatched it up, seizing the quiver full of arrows along with it. She ran to a tree to seek cover, placed the quiver against the trunk, grabbed an arrow and nocked it into the bow, then she tried to bend the weapon. It was harder than the bow she was used to, better suited to a stronger person than her. The additional hardness would prevent her to maintain the aim for a long time, but she was enough experienced to aim _before_ drawing the bow.

She turned to look at the fighters and she noticed at once that a few situations had changed: Ralf had overrun his adversary, but he had received a cut in his forearm that he was now dabbing with his neckerchief; Rebelle had worn out his opponent, who was now wearily staggering, and there was no doubt she would get rid of him soon; Much instead was in trouble, pressed by an especially skilled antagonist. Violet readied herself, raising the bow and stretching it until the nock brushed her cheek. She had already determined which point she would hit and therefore she had to keep the tension only for a few moments, the time she needed to wait for Much’s adversary to move enough away from him to offer her a safe shot. She released the arrow and it struck exactly where she had aimed, the upper part of the arm holding the sword, a blow that wouldn’t kill the soldier but would knock him out. The fighter screamed and reeled backwards, dropping his weapon and clutching his wounded arm, then he dropped to the ground.

Much whipped around to see who had come to his aid and he spotted Violet, standing with a bow in her hand as she was already picking up another arrow to nock it to the string. He smiled at her gratefully.

Violet didn’t notice it because she was busy searching for another target. She was surprised about her own cool head, because she had expected that consciously wounding a human being would make her feel remorse. Instead, at that moment she wasn’t feeling anything but her impellent need to help her friends.

She saw Allan fighting like a lion against an adversary who was clearly stronger and more skilled than him. She raised the bow, preparing for another shot, but at that moment the soldier plunged his sword into Allan’s thigh. Allan collapsed with a yell of pain. His opponent freed the blade and took a short step back, raising his sword again with both hands and preparing to strike a mortal blow. Violet fired. The arrow hit the hand placed on the lower part of the hilt, piercing it from side to side. The blow sent the soldier pivoting in a half circle, then he crashed down with a terrifying yell.

Violet’s healer instinct made her take a step towards Allan to go and provide him assistance, but then she saw Much running to him and therefore she quenched the impulse, turning again to the quiver. She took out a third arrow and nocked it to the string, on her face a determined expression hardening her usually soft features. She saw that Rebelle had tamed her adversary, who was now lying on the ground, if dead or only wounded Violet couldn’t assess because of the distance. The warrior maiden looked around and, seeing that Ralf was injured, she headed for him.

Violet cast a glance to Little John who, judging from the way his antagonist was retreating, was successfully leading the improbable quarterstaff-against-sword duel. As she watched, the huge peasant lashed out a terrible thrust that caught his opponent’s head. Despite the helm protecting him, the blow was such that the man collapsed instantly, surely dazed if not knocked out senseless.

Now, only the three Black Knights remained, still duelling with Guy, Drastan and Robin. A few moments later, Drastan ran his sword through Spencer’s chest. The baron fell without a sound. One minute later, Robin took down Rotherham, slashing his throat with a horizontal cut of deadly precision, and the Black Knight dropped dead uttering a horrible gurgle.

Now only Guy was left, still engaged with Buckingham. Violet noted anguished that her husband was bleeding from a couple of superficial cuts, the one on his left shoulder and another on the upper part of his right arm. But the now only surviving Black Knight was worse, as his left arm was covered in blood and dangled from his shoulder, lifeless and useless because of an injury Guy had caused him. Buckingham was fighting with the despair of a trapped animal. With a dart in which he surely put all of his fading strength, he penetrated Guy’s guard, inflicting him a blow in his side. The sheriff successfully dodged the strike, preventing the blade to sink into his flesh, but nonetheless Violet felt her heart skipping a beat. She grasped the bow harder and began raising it, determined to strike Buckingham – and not to injure him, but to kill him. She looked for a safe shot, but Guy had flung himself upon Buckingham and the two of them were now entangled, fighting furiously, as each one tried to disarm the other one. After endless moments of terrible tension, Violet saw Buckingham stumbling backwards. She stretched the bow, but then she noticed that a crimson stain was spreading on the Black Knight’s chest and she withheld the shot. Buckingham stared at Guy with wide eyes, as if he couldn’t believe at what was happening, then he collapsed without a sound. 

It was over.

Guy took his eyes off Buckingham’s cadaver and looked around, seeking his wife. Violet dropped both bow and arrow and rushed to him, lifting her skirt as to not stumble. Seeing her running to him, Guy dropped his weapon in turn and moved a few steps toward her before welcoming her into his arms.

Violet held him for dear life, trying to avoid his injuries, but he wrapped her into a tight embrace, heedless of his pain.

“My blossom...” he murmured, closing his eyes as he felt relief overwhelming him. They stayed entangled into one another’s arms for long moments, then Guy withdrew.

“Are you well?” he asked, watching her closely. He didn’t dare to formulate even the thought that they could have hurt her, beating her or worse.

Violet guessed his thoughts, which had been hers too.

“Aye, I’m well”, she reassured him. “They treated me respectfully. Well, relatively speaking at least”, she added and pulled a face, recalling the frugal dinner, the stinking blanket and the tied hands.

“Good for them”, Guy growled. “If they had laid a finger on you... If they weren’t already dead, I’d slaughter them again.”

His fierceness didn’t surprise Violet, because it was the same feeling she had had when she had seen Buckingham wounding Guy. For a moment, she had been ready to turn from healer to exterminator. But that moment was over and now Violet was herself again. She therefore remembered her husband’s injuries and those of her friends.

“Let me have a look”, she said in a peremptory tone that startled Guy. Quickly, Violet checked the cut on his shoulder, verifying its seriousness. It wasn’t very deep, but it was bleeding and it had to be cleaned and bandaged. The other wound instead was luckily just a scratch and thus she ignored it for the time being. She took a step backwards and stooped over Buckingham’s lifeless body, grasped the hem of his tunic and tried to rip off a strip, but it was too resistant. Therefore, she pulled his knife from his belt and used it to cut the cloth, then she ripped a piece from it and topped the wound on Guy’s shoulder with it, a temporary solution that would last only the time she would need to check on the other wounded.

“Press firmly”, she commanded. “And go sit down until I get back to you.”

Guy wouldn’t even dream to protest or contradict her, as it was absolutely clear that Violet knew exactly what she was doing and that, at that moment, she was the most suitable person to take control of the situation. He had to issue just one order before performing the one he had got from her.

“Drastan!” he called. His deputy rushed to him. “Look if there are survivors. In that case, if they’re conscious tie them, then we’ll see what to do with them.”

Drastan nodded and moved away to carry out the task he had been appointed with. Rebelle followed him.

Seeing her moving, Much called Violet because Allan’s injury was bleeding profusely and the young man was very pale. Violet hastened to them and examined the cut in the upper part of Allan’s thigh. It was very deep and she felt concerned. She could stitch it up – a technique she preferred to the much more commonly practiced cauterisation, which she thought needlessly brutal and which she would use only in case there were not alternatives – but in the middle of the forest she wasn’t equipped. Allan had to be carried to the castle as soon as possible.

“We must stop the bleeding”, she said. “Take off a tunic from one of the cadavers, quick.”

Much hurried to carry out her order with Little John’s help. Violet ripped to strips a portion of the garment, using them to tie the rest as a compress over the wound.

“He cannot ride”, she asserted. “You have to build a stretcher and fasten it to a horse.”

“We’ll take care of it”, Robin offered, gesturing to Little John.

Violet then checked on Ralf too. Luckily, his injury was little more than a scratch and he had it promptly covered with his neckerchief.

“Much”, she called. “Please, see if you can find a canteen with wine or even better with whisky.”

As Much began looking for what she had requested, Violet returned to Guy. She verified his shoulder injury and observed relieved that the bleeding had almost ceased. When she received a flask of whisky, she used some of the spirit to wash the wound. Guy started at the burning sensation, but he clenched his teeth and didn’t complain. After all, he had suffered worse things, such as the acid that had erased his tattoo. Eventually, Violet changed the compress and bandaged the injury, again using parts of Buckingham’s tunic.

As she was treating the wound on his right arm, washing it with the whisky, Drastan came back and reported to Guy.

“Three survivors, all unconscious at present”, he said in an unmistakably satisfied tone.

“I’ll take care of them”, Violet announced, raising after finishing with her husband. “Just sit there”, she advised him, then she set off.

The first soldier she had hit using the bow was the most seriously injured, with the arrow planted into his arm. She broke the shaft, but she couldn’t remove the head without a knife passed over a flame, so she simply made a bandage that would hold the shaft stump still, then someone else would take care of it.

The second soldier was easier to treat, because the arrow had pierced through his hand and the head was protruding from the palm. From the way his fingers were bent, Violet realised that a tendon had been damaged and therefore the soldier would be crippled for the rest of his life. She felt sorry, but at least he was alive. She broke the shaft and took away the arrow, then she dabbed the gash on the palm – much larger than the one on the back – washed the injury with the whisky and bandaged the hand.

The third survivor was Little John’s adversary. Violet took off his helmet with the greatest carefulness and found a big bump on his brow, which she rubbed with the whisky. It would be reabsorbed in a matter of days and there was no need of serious medical care.

When she was done with the three injured soldiers, Violet returned to Ralf and washed his wound with the spirit, then she went to Allan and checked the cut in his leg. The bleeding had diminished, but it hadn’t ceased.

“Is it very serious, lady?” the young man asked. His voice was firm, however his blue eyes betrayed the more than understandable fright he was feeling.

“Only if you won’t be treated”, Violet reassured him. “But I’ll take care of it, don’t you worry. Actually, I’m going to start right now. Give me your belt.”

Allan complied, unbuckling his belt and giving it to her. Violet fastened it around his leg, in direction of his heart, and tightened it as a kind of tourniquet.

“Loose it each time you feel your foot tingle”, she instructed him. “Then tighten it again.”

The ex-thief nodded to show he had grasped her instructions. Violet rose and headed for Robin and Little John, who were fastening the stretcher to Allan’s horse.

“We have to take Allan to Nottingham as soon as possible”, Violet urged them.

“We’re almost done”, Robin reassured her. “I’m going to tell the others to get ready to start.”

Meanwhile Drastan had returned to Guy.

“Well, have you made up your mind about what we should do with those people?” he asked, pointing to the three survivors.

“We’re going to leave them here”, the sheriff answered, having thought it through. “They’ll bury the dead, or they’ll carry them to Rotherham. They will say that they’ve been victims to an ambush. They can’t surely declare they had abducted the Baroness of Nottingham and that her husband and her friends came to take her back and that in the fight they have been nearly all killed.”

“I agree”, Drastan nodded. “Should they try to make accusations, it’d be their word against four noblemen’s: you, I, Locksley and Bonchurch.”

It still felt weird to Guy counting Much among the nobles, but though his appointment was very recent and not yet ratified by the king, he looked at it as valid.

“Precisely”, he said.

Robin approached them.

“We’re good to go”, he announced.

“Fine”, Guy said, starting to rise. Drastan moved at once to help him and Robin did likewise. Guy cast him a glance, surprised by his concern, and the Earl of Huntingdon shrugged, as much surprised as the sheriff was.

A few minutes later, everyone was up on their horses, except Allan who had been placed on the stretcher. Violet took position beside him to keep an eye on him along the way to Nottingham, which would take several hours. Guy, reluctant to be too far from his wife, came right after her, leaving to Robin the task to lead the group, while Drastan and Rebelle made the rearguard. At Robin’s signal, the small procession started, abandoning dead and wounded to their fate.


	27. Chapter XXVII

Chapter XXVII

Nottingham, September 9, 1194

Along the way, Violet asked for someone to precede them, in order to have a bedchamber readied for Allan. Guy complied and appointed Ralf, whose light wound wouldn’t prevent him to gallop fast.

As they arrived, three hours later, they found two menservants ready with a stretcher. They placed Allan carefully on it and carried him to the chamber that had been prepared for him. Before following him, Violet checked again her husband’s injured shoulder. The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, but nonetheless, she couldn’t shake off the sense of deep apprehension she was feeling.

“Go and lie down”, she ordered as a precautionary measure. “As soon as I’m finished with Allan, I’ll come to you.”

“Violet!”

They were all surprised in hearing Marian’s voice. They turned toward the Countess of Huntingdon and saw her descending the staircase, heading for them. Her pregnancy, now at the end of the fourth month, was clearly visible and it was the sole reason she hadn’t taken part in the pursuit of the abductors, but it hadn’t prevented her to come to Nottingham and be there when they returned.

Violet ran to her and Marian hugged her.

“Are you all right?” the Countess asked, withdrawing to look at her friend.

“Aye, I’m all right”, Violet reassured her. “But I must hurry to Allan’s aid. He’s rather seriously injured.”

Marian paled, because Allan had helped her, going back to inform Robin and his men when she had been forced to follow Vaisey and Guy to the Holy Land. Besides, prior to this he hadn’t betrayed her when he had found out that she was the Nightwatchman.

“Oh good heavens... Will he be alright?”

“I’ll make sure of it”, Violet affirmed with a determination that always surprised those who didn’t know her well and therefore relied only on the sweet part of her personality, but that didn’t surprise her friends at all. And not even her husband, who instead looked at her with renewed admiration and pride. What a great woman had entered his life, he thought. He still hardly believed it.

Taking once more charge of the situation, Violet turned to the others.

“I’ll thank you all adequately, my friends, but not now”, she announced. “Now I must take care of Allan. Drastan, please, see my husband to his room. He must rest. Rebelle, go back to Rivendale with Drastan as soon as he’s done with Guy. Robin, take Marian home. Much, Little John, you too go home. And if you see Ralf, tell him to join me in Allan’s bedchamber, will you?”

Everyone nodded, accepting her indications. Satisfied, Violet turned and rushed to her workroom, where she collected what she needed for Allan’s treatment.

On the way to his bedchamber, she met Sally, who was looking for her.

“May I help you, my lady?” the maidservant asked. Violet jumped on the offer.

“Yes”, she accepted. “Fetch me cold water and a few cloths, possibly fresh out of the laundry.”

Sally nodded and hurried away.

When she entered Allan’s room, Violet found him laying on the bed. They had removed his boots, but otherwise he was still fully clothed.

“Allan, I have to take off your breeches”, she told him, approaching the bed and placing the bag with her stuff at the foot of it. He looked at her with glassy eyes. His brow was covered in sweat and he was clearly running a fever.

“Do what you must, my lady”, he muttered. Violet proceeded to unfasten the belt he was wearing on his thigh and to undo the lace closing the fly of his breeches. To preserve her patient’s modesty, she grasped one corner of the linen sheet and covered him from his chest to halfway his thigh, just above his injury. Then, she seized the sides of his breeches and pulled downwards. Allan moved to help her and she slipped off the bloodied garment, tossing it to the floor. The wound wasn’t bleeding anymore, but the edges were swollen, reddened and too hot to the touch, all signs for an infection requiring immediate care.

Sally entered with an earthen ewer and cloths. Violet signalled to place everything on the small table next to the window.

“Pour the water into the basin”, she instructed Sally, pointing to the cabinet with everything one needed to wash. Violet rinsed her hands and dried them carefully, then she took one of the cloths and soaked it with an infusion of lavender, echinacea and thyme, using it to clean the wound.

“Hand me that jar, please”, she asked Sally, pointing to a small terracotta pot inside her bag. Quickly, the maid gave it to her. Violet opened it and poured its content – raw honey – directly into the cut, filling it. Allan grimaced at the unexpected burning, but it was mild enough and easied almost immediately. Eventually, Violet applied a thick linen gauze compress on the wound and bandaged it so that it would not move.

“Now we need something for the fever”, she declared, washing again her hands. “Sally, I’m going to the kitchen to prepare a suitable remedy. Meanwhile, refresh frequently his forehead”, she added, wetting another cloth and handing it to the maid. Sally carried out her task at once.

In the kitchen there was always a copper vessel full of warm water next to the perpetually burning fire. Violet filled a small pot and prepared a concoction with willow bark, then poured it through a strainer and took it to Allan.

As she returned she found Ralf, who had followed her orders and had come. Violet showed him a chair, then she gave a cup of the concoction to Allan, who drank it diligently and with no fuss about its bitter taste.

At this point, Violet took care of Ralf. The injury on his forearm had already started to heal. The cut was clean and didn’t show any sign of infection, therefore she dabbed it with a cloth soaked in a vulnerary liquid based on plantain juice, which would help the healing, then she covered the wound with a clean gauze and bandaged it.

“You can go home now”, she told the sergeant. “Take two days off.”

“I need an authorisation from Captain Gilbert or from Lord Nottingham”, Ralf objected. Violet pulled a face, annoyed. She was not used to see her authority as a healer somehow contradicted or hindered, but of course, she couldn’t bypass the hierarchy.

“I’ll get if for you”, she assured him. “Go.”

The good sergeant nodded and took his leave.

“You too should go, my lady”, Sally exhorted Violet, seeing her tired. “I’ll take care of Allan, until you’ve had some rest.”

“I’m not finished yet”, Violet replied. “I still have to check on my husband’s injuries.”

“Lord Nottingham too was wounded?” Sally asked, clearly worried. “I’m very sorry...”

“Not badly, thanks God”, Violet reassured her. “However, ‘tis better if I have a look at him before thinking about myself”, she headed for the door. “Give Allan another cup of the concoction in a couple of hours, if I’m not back earlier.”

Sally nodded. Violet took her leave and went to see Guy.

She found her husband lying in bed as she had ordered him. Drastan had helped him disrobe and had his dirty and ragged clothes taken away.

As soon as he saw her coming into the room, Guy gave her his typical smirk and his eyes lighted up.

“How are you?” Violet asked, placing her bag next to the bed and leaning over to brush his lips with hers in a soft kiss.

“Better, now that you’re here”, he answered in a low voice. Violet caressed his cheek, then she withdrew and pulled the sheet aside. The wound on his arm was just a scratch and had already started healing, therefore, after a quick glance, she gave her attention to the deeper injury on his shoulder. She took off the compress, slightly stained with blood, and examined the cut, finding it clean and with no trace of redness or swelling. Satisfied, she dabbed it with the plantain juice, then she covered it with a clean gauze and bandaged it. Eventually, as a precaution, she returned to the wound on the arm and treated it.

“How’s Allan?” Guy asked when his wife was done looking after him.

“His injury started becoming infected”, Violet answered as she washed her hands in the basin she had fetched. “But I treated it and, if I got it in time, he won’t worsen and will heal in eight, ten days.”

“Excellent. And Ralf?”

Violet saw her chance.

“Only a superficial cut, luckily”, she said. “But he should take a couple of days off. He needs your authorisation, or Gilbert’s, to stay home.”

“I will inform Gilbert”, Guy assured her.

Violet dried her hands and turned again to him. The sunshine coming from the open window illuminated her face from an angle that allowed Guy noticing the dark shadows under her eyes.

“You’re tired”, he said. “Go get some rest.”

Violet nodded, but didn’t move. She found herself very reluctant to leave him. However, she needed to wash and change her gown, sullied and crumpled because of the vicissitudes of the last hours.

Guy perceived her hesitation.

“Is something wrong, my love?” he inquired in a soft tone.

“I don’t want to be alone”, she whispered. She hated to admit it, but the aftermath for the dread she had felt was troubling her heavily, though she had kept it so far strictly under control.

“You don’t have to be alone”, Guy declared, patting the mattress beside him. “You can lay down here with me. I too would appreciate not being alone...”

Violet smiled, feeling very grateful.

“Gladly, but I must take off this dirty dress first, and freshen up.”

“I’ll help you”, Guy offered, sitting up, then his lips bent into an impish grin. “After all, there’s nothing I like more than disrobing you, my lady wife”, he added teasingly.

Violet chuckled slightly embarrassed, not used to the conjugal confidence yet, but her husband’s statement also flattered her. She approached the bed and Guy opened the laces on the back of her gown. In just her camisole, Violet went to the basin and ewer always ready for ablutions and washed her face and arms. After drying off, she returned to the bed and lay down next to her husband, resting her head on his good shoulder and closing her eyes. Guy took her hand and brought it to his lips, then he placed it on his heart, holding her tight.

As he had spent a sleepless night, Guy fell asleep almost at once, but Violet instead had slept, even if little and badly, therefore she just dozed, appreciating the reassuring presence of her husband lying next to her.

When the bell announcing the midday meal rang, Violet stirred and raised her head to look at Guy, finding him watching her closely.

“I didn’t realise you were already awake”, she smiled. He returned her beam.

“How are you?” he asked her.

“Much better. And you?”

“Pretty fine, all things considered, except I’m starving. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday’s midday meal.”

“Good heavens!” Violet cried in consternation. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think about ordering someone to bring you some breakfast, when we arrived home...”

Guy raised one hand and she paused.

“Don’t worry”, he said in a soothing tone. “I could’ve thought about it myself, and I didn’t.”

She tried to protest. “But ‘tis my duty as your wife to take care that...”

Again, Guy’s gesture interrupted her.

“Your only _duty_ is to love me”, he murmured, caressing her cheek. “And that too, only because ‘tis your free choice, for which I thank you.”

Violet felt like melting. She leaned over to him and kissed him.

“I love you, Guy”, she said upon his lips, before kissing him again.

“And I love you, Violet”, he returned, then he suddenly held her tight, heedless of his injuries, and sank his face into her hair. “I don’t know what I’d do, if I lost you...”

Violet hugged him in return, trying not to hurt him.

“But it did _not_ happen”, she reminded him in a low voice, “My mother used to say that ‘tis useless to think about averted catastrophes and ‘tis much better to be grateful for the things that end up well.”

After a long moment, Guy relaxed his grip and withdrew to look at her.

“You’re perfectly right”, he admitted. His stomach produced a loud rumble. “Whoops, best if we go and eat!”

Violet laughed, then she disentangled herself from her husband’s arms and got up. She looked at the dress she had tossed on the chest and grimaced.

“I’ll have to don it again to go to my bedchamber and change”, she observed.

“No need for it”, Guy said, getting up in turn. “You can put on one of my capes”, he opened the chest and pulled out the lightest cloak he had. “Here, it’ll cover you properly.”

“Excellent idea”, Violet approved, taking the garment he was handing her. “Shall I help you dress?”

“Nay, I can do that myself”, Guy refused, taking a shirt from another trunk and starting slipping it on. “Shall I send for Sally to help you?”

“Nay, I left her with Allan. By the way, it’ll be better if I return there before coming downstairs for lunch”, she placed the black cloak over her shoulders and fastened it. “See you in the great hall.”

Violet hurried to her bedchamber, where she freshened up more thoroughly than she had done earlier, before resting with her husband. She chose a gown that she could tie in the front, so she wouldn’t need help to dress, then she quickly brushed her hair and eventually she went to see how Allan was doing. Sally had kept refreshing his forehead and, when Violet arrived, she had just given him the second dose of the antipyretic concoction. The young man’s temperature hadn’t lowered, but it hadn’t increased either. When Violet checked his injury, she found no trace of suppuration and the swelling looked a little reduced.

“I’m going to eat”, she told Sally. “I’ll be back to relieve you, so you too can go and have your meal.”

“That won’t be necessary, my lady”, she maid said. “My mother came by earlier, telling me she would fetch me something to eat here, so I can keep watching over Allan.”

“Very well then. I’ll be back anyway to check again his wound, because I won’t feel comfortable until the fever lowers.”

“Thank you for doing all this for me, my lady”, Allan said with a faint smile. “Can I have some cold beer? My throat feels drier than the desert in the Holy Land...”

Violet couldn’t help but grin, but she shook her head.

“No beer until you have a fever, only water”, she said authoritatively. “I’ll have a few crumbled mint leaves added to it to make it more thirst-quenching.”

She took her leave and went swiftly downstairs, heading for the great hall. She saw Guy talking with Gilbert, so she went to them.

“Welcome back, Lady Violet”, the captain of the guards said. “I’m very happy you are unscathed despite your dreadful misadventure.”

He was sincere, because the new Baroness of Nottingham had won his respect during the measles epidemic with her generosity and competence. Besides, she seemed to have an excellent influence on her husband.

“Thank you, Gilbert”, Violet answered. He performed a respectful bow and took his leave.

Guy gave his hand to Violet, inviting her to follow him to the high table, where they took their seats. The meal was served and both enjoyed the food, and Violet discovered only now that she was famished because so far other things had occupied her mind.

When they finished, Guy headed for the armoury to inspect the supply of new arrows that had just arrived at the castle. Violet went to her workroom in order to prepare a poultice based on althea roots, which she would use to replace the honey after stitching up Allan’s wound.

As she entered his bedchamber, she found that the young man had gained back some colour. Checking his temperature, she ascertained that the fever had lowered.

“I’m starving”, Allan confessed.

“Excellent”, Violet smiled. “However, ‘tis better if you eat light, therefore I suggest for now some fresh fruit and bread. For dinner I’ll have some stewed vegetables cooked for you, with a few morsels of chicken.”

“I’d rather have a thick slice of roasted pork, but whatever”, Allan sighed with a comical grimace. Violet smiled amused by his dramatic pretence, then she sobered.

“I’m going to stitch up your cut, before you eat”, she said. “So it will heal better and quicker. I warn you: it won’t be very pleasant.”

The young man paled, but he clenched his teeth and nodded to agree to the procedure. Thus, Violet removed the bandage and cleaned the wound with a wet cloth. She tried to be as delicate as possible, but a couple of times Allan jumped, though he didn’t utter a single sound.

After the cleaning, Violet took a curved ivory needle and threaded it with catgut, a fibre obtained from the intestines of sheep, excellent to stitch up wounds because it had a great resistance and could be reabsorbed, vanishing in about one month. She poured some vinegar in a bowl and placed into it needle and thread, then she used more vinegar to wash her hands and dried them with a clean cloth. Eventually, she picked up her instrument again, dabbed it with the same cloth and began the process, knotting every single stitch. She made six stitches, and at each of it, Allan gritted his teeth but never complained.

“You did great”, Violet praised him in the end. “Many men would pass out after the second stitch.”

“They’re as weak as a woman…”

“Actually, women withstand pain much better than men”, Violet confuted him promptly, frowning. “Consider labour and delivery.”

Allan cast her a surprised glance.

“I beg your pardon”, he muttered. “I never considered this.”

Mollified at once, Violet nodded. She tossed the remaining catgut, then she immersed the needle back into the vinegar and washed her hands again. Afterwards, she took the althea poultice and spread it over the cut. After covering it with a cloth, she bandaged it.

“Do you still want to eat?” she asked her patient when she finished. Allan’s cheeks were slowly losing the ashen pallor they had taken on as she was stitching up his wound.

“Aye, but perhaps not right away”, he answered in a feeble voice. Violet nodded, understanding. After storing her stuff back into the bag, she took her leave and returned to her workroom.

Checking her supplies, she noted that she was running short of calendula oil, an excellent remedy for light burnings and insect bites. Therefore, she decided to prepare some, as it needed one month to macerate and she didn’t want to risk to run out of it.

OOO

When he was finished with checking at the armoury, Guy headed for his study, wanting to verify it there were documents or other things needing his attention. As he walked, however, he became aware that his thoughts were constantly straying to Violet. Her dreadful adventure had taken its toll on her, both physically and emotionally. He knew she was a strong woman and would soon recover, but in that precise moment, she surely needed him, her husband, the man who had vowed in front of God and men to protect, love and honour her. It was not only his duty to be there for her, but it was his wish to reassure and comfort her. From this perspective, his duty as a feudal lord paled in comparison to his duty as a husband.

But beyond these abstract concepts, Guy felt mostly the acute need to hold Violet in his arms, the simplest and most immediate way to cancel the memory of the distress they had both endured. A distress that for her had been surely worsened by the nightmarish notion she could end up raped – unfortunately, a threat a woman had to face way too often.

Guy felt sick at the simple thought that she could suffer such an appalling ordeal. The potential responsible would suffer a horrific agony by his hand, to the point he would implore for death as a release. He shook his head to chase away those terrible thoughts. It had _not_ happened, so mulling over it was completely useless. Violet’s abductors had paid their crime with their lives, and not only the kidnap, but the plot against the king too. It was punishment enough. Better, far better figuring out how he could comfort Violet. Guy couldn’t think of a better way than showing her concretely his love and devotion, loving her with his heart through his body.

He turned on his heels so suddenly that, if someone had been standing behind him, he would have knocked him or her over, and went looking for his wife.

OOO

Violet was pouring walnut oil into the earthenware pot already containing the dried calendula flowers when she heard a knock on the door.

“Come in”, she invited without averting her attention from what she was doing.

“Am I bothering you?” she heard Guy’s beloved voice asking. “If you’re busy, I can come back later...”

“No, I’m almost done”, she assured him, turning her face to smile at him, “Come on in.”

She placed down the small jar of oil and corked it carefully before storing it away, then she thoroughly stirred the contents of the pot with a long wooden spoon.

“What are you preparing?” Guy asked, approaching her.

“Calendula oil”, she answered. “’Tis good for burnings and insect bites, and generally for most skin issues.”

“I don’t know how you can remember uses and properties of so many herbs”, Guy confessed, feeling impressed as usual by this particular ability of his wife.

“’Tis a matter of memory, I think”, she commented, shrugging. She secured the pot, which she would shake and turn upside down every day in the next four weeks, never opening it, to keep the two ingredients well mixed. “Surely it helps a lot that I’m very passionate about the topic”, she commented, turning eventually to her husband. “But I don’t think you’re here to talk about my herbal competence”, she went on, raising one eyebrow quizzically.

Guy’s smile broadened.

“Actually, I feel the need of your company”, he admitted in a low voice.

“Well, I’m here with you”, she said naively. She saw one corner of Guy’s mouth raising further in a naughty smirk and, suddenly aware about his intentions, she felt hot. “Oh...”

Guy realised she had guessed what he had meant and lowered his gaze on her cleavage, where he could glimpse the soft mounds of her breasts. He grasped her hands and pulled her slowly to him, lifting his gaze to her lips. Violet felt even hotter and butterflies whirled in her belly. Suddenly, she became very bold.

“My lord husband”, she murmured. “Do you want to make love with me right now, in broad daylight...?”

Her tone, lower and more sensual than usual, stirred Guy’s desire. He looked into her eyes, pleasantly surprised, but he realised that she had no idea of the effect she had on him, because she was still unaware of her power of seduction. This, if possible, made her even more desirable in his eyes.

“Every hour of day or night is good to make love with you, my lady wife”, he returned in a hoarse voice. He started to lower his head to kiss her, but Violet stopped him, placing one hand on his chest. She wrinkled her brow.

“Do your injuries not hurt?” she asked.

“I endured far worse things”, Guy grinned. Seeing that she wasn’t much convinced, he changed his approach. “Seriously, Violet, these two cuts are nothing, compared to the acid that cancelled my tattoo.”

Violet’s frown smoothed, but her face still expressed hesitation.

“Are you really sure?” she insisted.

He smiled, touched by her concern. “I thank you, my love, but I assure you that you have no reason to worry.”

Violet hesitated a few moments longer, then the responded looping her arms around his neck and lifting her face to his.

Guy caught her lips in a kiss. As their tongues caressed one another in a sensual way, he gripped her tighter, craving to feel her soft curves pressed to his body.

Violet returned his kiss with joyful abandon. Guy’s apparent desire stirred an immediate echo inside of her, a tingle in the lower part of her belly coming with warmth that radiated from between her thighs, a sensation she had learnt to recognise as expression of her own desire. She lowered her hands and settled them firmly on her husband’s bottom, sinking the tip of her fingers in the flesh that filled his breeches so nicely in this place. Doing it, she pressed herself further into him.

Guy uttered a moan of pleasure and responded to her move by grasping her in turn and lifting her off the floor. He passed his hands under her thighs and had her draping her legs around his waist, then he carried her to the counter, where he had spotted a free space. He placed her down to sit there and slipped one hand under her skirt, brushing her calf from the ankle to the fold of her knee.

“Violet”, he panted, starting to lift her gown.

“Guy”, she murmured in return, tugging at one of the strings of his jacket. Soon enough, the garment fell to the floor, and his shirt followed shortly afterwards.

Quickly, Guy unlaced Violet’s dress and lowered its bodice, exposing her breasts. Her nipples were taut, begging for caresses. He brushed the sensitive buds and she sighed, then he bent over to gently suckle at one. Violet stuck her fingers into his hair, holding his head, her body afire. When Guy kneeled between her thighs, she realised what was going to happen and the heat emanating from her most private spot became scorching.

Guy uncovered her. At the sight of her female flower, glistening with desire, his pupils dilated, darkening his gaze. Violet quivered at his reaction.

“Guy...!” she whimpered.

Her call contained a pressing note that urged him to act immediately. He bent over and placed his lips on the soft petals full of nectar, tasting it eagerly. She uttered an amorous moan expressing such a pleasure, he shivered of reflected pleasure. He brushed the bud of her femininity, then he thrust his tongue into her core, alternating the two movements until she started trembling uncontrollably, moaning louder and louder. At this point, Guy removed himself from her and stood up. He yanked at the laces fastening his fly so hard, he almost ripped them off, then he lowered his breeches, freeing his virility, and grasped Violet’s hips. However, he didn’t plunge into her at once, aware that she was still too new to these sensual matches, almost like a virgin, and therefore he had to go easy on her.

Violet looked at him with hazy eyes, her mind overwhelmed with the unknown sensations she was feeling. Suddenly, she recalled Rebelle illustrating how she had made love with Drastan sitting on a table and her lips curled into such a cheeky smirk, that Guy felt his throat going dry.

Violet lowered her gaze on his male sceptre. Refusing to let her shyness stop her, though her cheeks became hot, she grasped it, caressing it from tip to base, up and down, in a way that made Guy groan aloud. Then, using her heels, she pushed him to her, guiding him exactly where she wanted him to be. When she felt his manliness pressing against her, she left him and moved her hips forward, starting to welcome him inside of her.

This was too much, for Guy. With a gasp, he plunged inside Violet’s body and was met by the most erotic of embraces. He thrust and withdrew frantically two, three times, then he regained his self-control and slowed down. He pulled back to look at his wife.

Violet’s ecstatic expression – her eyes shut, her lips parted – made his heart somersault. He slowed down even further, almost stopping.

“Violet... my love...” he whispered.

Hearing him calling her name, Violet cracked her eyes open and looked at him. Guy’s face expressed marvel, rapture, thrill, and she felt a lump forming in her throat. She lifted her hands and cupped his cheeks, pulling him to her. She caught his lips in a kiss full of the sentiment she felt for him, born unexpectedly and grown almost without her knowledge, revealing itself only once ripened to the point it was impossible to deny.

“I love you, Guy”, she whispered, before kissing him again. She felt him starting to move again within her, brushing that special place of her body that was so sensitive, she jumped in pleasure each time he touched it. She exhaled a sigh expressing both her liking and her astonishment towards an act that once had disgusted her, as much as she now ardently craved to experience it as frequently as possible.

Hearing her, Guy increased speed and extent of his movements, eager to give her as much pleasure as he could, cancelling every lingering fear she could possibly still bear about the act of love. He added a slight rotation. Violet’s muffled cry told him how much she was enjoying it and therefore he persisted. It didn’t take long for him to obtain the reward he was looking for, because soon enough, he perceived Violet’s inner muscles convulse around him, squeezing him delightfully and sending him instantly beyond the point of no return.

Violet felt as if a breaker was sweeping her away and gasped, out of breath, as her body arched backwards. The part of herself that contained Guy shook in spasms of delight, to which her husband’s own spasms responded just moments later, adding even more to the sensation of deep pleasure she was experiencing. She uttered a moan, and in her ears, she heard another one echoing it, its baritone revealing it was Guy’s. The awareness that _she_ was the cause of it, that _she_ was the one giving him such an intense pleasure struck her and her eyes widened out of wonder and joy.

For a few moments, time seemed as if slowing down as the two spouses savoured the intoxicating amorous ecstasy, which was both of their joined flesh and of their souls, equally joined.

Slowly, the tremors of their bodies subsided, their laboured breaths calmed down and their heartrate slowed back to normal. Guy turned his face and kissed Violet’s temple with a tenderness he had never felt before towards a lover.

“My charming wife...” he murmured.

Violet’s eyes dampened. She tried to speak, to return the sweet appellative, but her voice refused to come, a lump obstructing her throat. Therefore, she gripped her husband’s shoulders harder, trying to tell him this way what she was feeling.

Guy sensed her emotion and stroked her hair in a reassuring gesture. A thought crossed his mind like a bolt of lightning: never, ever would he think, just six month back, that his life could change so much. That _he_ could change so much... He felt immensely lucky, and immensely humble in front of a destiny – he didn’t dare to call it God – that had granted him this wonderful woman.

OOO

The next day, Drastan arrived punctually at the castle to begin his day as the sheriff’s right-hand. He immediately went looking for Guy and found him in his study.

“Good morning, Guy”, he said as he entered.

“Good morning to you, Drastan”, Guy answered, placing down the document he was reading.

The knight of Greenmere closed the door and turned again to the baron.

“How’s Violet?” he enquired as he took his seat onto one of the chairs in front of the desk.

“She’s fine, thanks goodness”, Guy informed him. “She was very shaken, but she’s a strong woman and therefore she reacted well.

“I already knew Violet hides a noticeable strength under her sweet appearance”, Drastan confirmed, crossing his arms on his chest, “However, I didn’t think she had the heart to use a bow against another human being.”

“She has the heart of a lion”, Guy stated, sounding quite proud of his wife.

Drastan arched one eyebrow at this – perhaps unintentional – reference to the way people had dubbed Richard Plantagenet. He decided to roll with it and bring up the topic he was here to discuss.

“As does our king”, he observed softly.

Guy became attentive. Two days before, Drastan had said that _for the time being_ he wouldn’t think about Guy’s involvement in the plot against the legitimate sovereign of England, but now the time had come to confront the matter. Violet had forgiven Guy, as well as Marian, Robin and the men of his gang, but he couldn’t take it for granted that Drastan would follow suit, despite the deep friendship they shared.

“Indeed”, the sheriff confirmed. He waited for Drastan to resume talking.

“I’ve been thinking a lot about what you told me regarding the Black Knights and their conspiracy”, the blond knight began. “And also about the reasons that led you to join them. As you told me that Rebelle doesn’t know anything about the matter, I didn’t discuss it with her, though it was hard for me.”

Drastan paused, waiting for a comment, and Guy nodded.

“I can see that”, he murmured. “The less people know, the less I risk my neck, therefore I thank you.”

Drastan too nodded. 

“Precisely what I thought. ‘Tis very hard for me seeing you like a traitor. No, I’d rather say ‘tis impossible”, he sighed, bending forward and placing his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling between them. “I keep wondering how you could go so far. Ambition and vindictiveness doesn’t seem to me good enough reasons... The sole explanation I can come up with, is that that cursed Vaisey had poisoned your soul, corrupting you to the point to turn you into a completely different person than my friend and brother-in-arms of yore. But now it seems you’re again the man I knew. In all these months, you acted often sternly, but always justly. Even with your wife’s abductors. Though it was risky, we could assail them under cover of darkness and cut their throats while they were sleeping, instead we waited for dawn and we charged them openly, giving them the opportunity to defend themselves and die in a fair fight. Besides, from snatches of news I kept collecting over these months in Nottingham, I leant that what could’ve been your worst deeds have always been thwarted by Locksley. As I know perfectly you’re not stupid, I came to the conclusion you did it on purpose...”

Drastan paused again because Guy’s lips had curled up into a sarcastic smirk.

“Many realised it”, he commented. “Violet, Rebelle, William, Marian... Ha, I thought I’ve been smart!”

“So ‘tis true!” Drastan cried, not withholding his relief, then he smirked in turn. “The important thing is, that son of a bitch named Vaisey never realised it.”

“Unlike you, he thought I wasn’t very smart”, Guy explained.” I can’t blame him though, given the way he was able to deceive me, making me think that, if I’d blindly follow his orders, he’d give me back my ancestral lands. With his lures and false promises, he was able to slowly involve me into his insane plans. I must thank Marian for not falling completely in his clutches. For a long time, she’s been my safety rope, the one that somehow prevented me to step over the edge of the abyss. However, I had to come to the point to think I had killed her before I realised that only I could save myself, changing my life completely. If Vaisey hadn’t died, falling down that crevasse, I think I would’ve probably end up killing him myself...”

“Instead, fate decided differently”, Drastan mused. “Or God did it, if you listen to the priests”, his eyes turned to Guy with a sudden inspiration. “Mayhap ‘twas God for good... He gave you a sign, freeing you from your bête noire, in order to make you embark without delay on the path of redemption!”

Guy wrinkled his brow.

“I don’t think I have all this importance in God’s eyes...” he muttered. However, the thought was comforting, though it was just a remote possibility.

“Why not?” Drastan countered vivaciously. “They teach us that God loves us all. This doesn’t exclude that He doesn’t punish the evil people, and that’s precisely what He’s done with Vaisey. You should be grateful... also because this way Violet became heir to the barony and chose you as her husband.”

Guy reflected in silence for a few long moments, his gaze lost into his own thoughts.

“A single, tiny misstep of an evil man on a remote mountain trail, and life changes completely”, he pondered softly. “Mine, Violet’s... even yours, old chap, because if I hadn’t been appointed pro tempore sheriff after Vaisey’s death, I couldn’t have hired you as my deputy, and consequently you couldn’t have met Rebelle...”

“Aye, sometimes a tiny action causes big consequences”, Drastan confirmed.

Guy looked at him again.

“How do you judge me for my despicable past actions?” he asked him in a dull tone that concealed his concern to lose the closest friend he ever had.

Drastan lifted his hands.

“’Tis not for me to judge”, he affirmed. “That would be up to a court. My loyalty goes to King Richard, with no doubt, but you’re my friend and you too deserve loyalty. For a period, you’ve been diverted from the right path by an evil man, but now you repented and you’re seeking redemption, undoing Vaisey’s sketchy plots and righting the wrongs you did on his command. Violet, and not only she but also Lady Marian, Locksley and his men, all of them remitted your misconducts towards them. Towards me, you never behaved wrongly.”

Guy felt incredibly relieved, as he had only another time in his life, when he confessed his misdeeds to Violet and she had accepted his past, forgiving him.

“So you’ll keep my secret?” he whispered.

“With my life, if needed”, Drastan assured him.

Guy rose and rounded the desk to approach the knight of Greenmere, who rose in turn.

“I don’t know by what grace I’m deserving so much”, Guy whispered in a hoarse voice laden with emotion. “First Violet, then you... not to mention Isabella, Marian, even Locksley..”

He embraced Drastan, who returned the hug.

They were more than brothers-in-arms, more than friends: they were siblings.


	28. Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXVIII

Nottingham, September 15th, 1194

“How do I look?”

Rebelle’s question detained a strangely uncertain tone. Violet smiled at her. “You’re gorgeous. Drastan’s going to gawk.”

Mary had just finished dressing the bride’s hair and had left the two cousins alone. Rebelle touched her curls.

“You say?” he insisted, unable to hide her anxiety.

“You’re the most beautiful bride in all Nottingham County”, Violet assured her, handing her the gold necklace set with agate stones that William had given her as a wedding present. Rebelle pushed aside her long dark hair, allowing her cousin to tie the jewel around her neck.

“I’m not used to all these frills”, she complained. The rare times Rebelle donned women’s wear, she tended to choose very simple clothes, while her wedding gown had intricate golden embroideries on the bodice. The dress was dark blue, the colour of the Virgin as the bride was supposed to be an untouched maiden, but it wasn’t her case, because dark blue and gold were the colours of the House of Rivendale.

“Come on, you can endure it for a few hours”, Violet said firmly.

“I can’t wait to take everything off”, the bride grumbled.

“Drastan will surely help you very gladly, tonight…”

The tone of naughty amusement her cousin was using made Rebelle laugh.

“You’re right”, she admitted, then she pulled up her skirt. “Anyway, I didn’t renounce neither my breeches, nor my knife”, she added, baring herself up to her thighs to show where she had tied the scabbard with the small weapon and confirming what she had said some time ago to her cousin.

Violet sighed, feigning exasperation. “You’re incorrigible, little cousin!”

The exchange had partially dissolved the bride’s nervousness, and she was now feeling a little calmer.

As Rivendale would become the spouses’ home – it already was, but of course, by convention everyone pretended it wasn’t – they had decided that Rebelle would spend the night before the wedding at Chetwood. Drastan would sleep at Nottingham Castle, from where he would come with Guy, his best man, to sign the marriage contract before the notary, exactly as it had been for Violet a few months earlier. The wedding procession would then start from Chetwood to head for Rivendale, where Brother Tuck was awaiting the couple to impart the Church’s blessing onto the nuptials. The wedding banquet would then take place – in the open, as it was a mild season – with not many attendants, because Rebelle and Drastan had chosen to keep things simple, to the point there wouldn’t even be a dancing.

Violet had been two hours ahead her husband and the groom to keep company to her cousin, helping her to dress up and offering her moral support as Rebelle had done with her a few months ago. Violet thought back at that day, recalling how nervous she had been – no, she had been _frightened_ by what she expected would come at night. Never would she imagine how it had ended up instead…

“Let’s go grabbing some food”, she exhorted her cousin. “I didn’t break my fast at the castle and now I’m starving.”

“I too am starving”, Rebelle admitted. Unlike Violet, nervousness gave her an appetite instead of killing it. They went downstairs to the kitchen, where Maud gave them bread, butter, honey and porridge, as well as lukewarm milk.

They then returned to Rebelle’s bedchamber, waiting for the groom and his best man to show up. Unable to stay still, Rebelle kept pacing back and forth the whole time, constantly looking out of the window. Her anxiety was beginning to affect Violet too and at a certain point, the latter opened her mouth to invite her cousin to sit and calm down, but right then Rebelle jumped.

“Robin and Marian are here!” she announced.

The Earl and Countess of Huntingdon were the sole guests other than the directly involved people. They had come with a carriage out of regard of Marian’s state, not halfway through her fifth month of pregnancy.

Robin joined William in the great hall, while Marian came upstairs to Rebelle’s.

“So, how’s the bride doing?” she asked smiling.

“As nervous as a cat” Violet answered laughing.

“Indeed”, Rebelle admitted with a sigh. “I don’t understand why I’m so agitated”, she then muttered. “I wish with all my heart to marry Drastan, I couldn’t wait this moment to arrive, and now I’m tense like a bowstring. Shouldn’t I just be happy?”

“You’re just impatient”, her cousin soothed her. “Come on, Drastan will be here soon and then at last you’ll become his wife.”

“Aye”, the warrior maiden smiled, then she looked at Marian, whose bulging belly was well visible under her gown. “So, did you and Robin choose the names?”

The last time they had met, at Nottingham’s twice-weekly market – before Violet’s misadventure with the Black Knights – the young countess had told them that she and her husband were very undecided.

“Aye, in the end we opted for Richard if ‘tis a boy, in honour of our king, and if ‘tis a girl, we’ll name her Meliora, like my maternal grandmother.”

“Both beautiful names”, Violet declared. “How’s your pregnancy going? Your morning sickness ceased?”

Marian had been spared this indisposition during the first trimester, when it’s most common, hut she had started manifesting it a couple of weeks earlier. Violet had advised her to eat little and often, light snacks every two hours instead of three meals a day, and to drink frequently in small sips an herbal tea with peppermint, fennel seeds and liquorice.

“’Tis almost gone, thanks to your advice”, the mother-to-be assured her.

Rebelle had resumed her pacing around the room and looking out of the window, but at least Violet was now distracted by Marian’s presence and wasn’t as much bothered as before.

Less than ten minutes later, the bride saw the notary coming.

“Look, Harper’s here!” she announced.

Of course, he preceded the groom and his best man, to be ready with the contract, which signing would make the marriage legally valid. Mary went and opened the door for him, then she walked him to the great hall where William was waiting for him. The Knight of Chetwood was Rebelle’s legal guardian and therefore he would act to all effects as the father of the bride.

With the wedding, Rebelle’s estate would formally become her husband’s property. Drastan, like Guy, would keep his own family name, but his children would take the mother’s. Anyway, as Drastan was a younger son, it didn’t make much sense for his children to bear the name of a place they would never inherit and much likely even never see.

A few minutes later Rebelle, still on _sentry duty_ at the window, was the first to catch sight of Drastan and Guy’s arrival.

“They’re here!” she cried, in her voice a shrill tone that showed her great excitement. She moved to get out of the bedchamber, but Violet stopped her. “Wait, where are you going? ‘Tis not the moment to go downstairs yet. We must wait that everything’s ready, and then Mary will call us.”

Like Violet, Rebelle had decided not to be taken to the groom, but to go to him on her own, for the same reason as her cousin: she was the one who had chosen Drastan as her husband, not someone else who had suggested him to her or, worse, laid him on her. This was her way to affirm it.

Hearing Violet’s words, the bride froze in the middle of the room.

“You’re right”, she sighed, then she resumed pacing back and forth.

“You’re going to wear out the floor”, Marian observed. Rebelle was about to snap, but she realised that her friend has spoken out of sympathy. The bride laughed nervously. “You’re right, but I simply cannot stay still!”

At last, a few minutes later Mary knocked at the door to notify that time had come to walk downstairs. Consequently, Violet and Marian preceded Rebelle into the great hall. Marian joined Robin as Violet positioned herself next to Harper, in front of Guy. She and her husband exchanged a smile, then they both turned towards the door, waiting for the bride.

As he had done at Violet’s wedding, Jack Knowles was acting again as the porter. Seeing that everyone was ready, he opened the door and let Rebelle in.

Drastan, a few steps away from Harper, his best man and the matron of honour, was unusually pale and stared at the threshold holding his breath. He was elegantly dressed with a white shirt of the finest linen and a sleeveless tunic of velvet the colour of hazelnut, dark brown breeches and knee-high boots of quality calf leather. When Rebelle appeared on the doorway, his heart leaped in his chest. She was simply gorgeous.

Rebelle immediately looked for her groom and, seeing he was gawking at her – exactly like Violet had predicted – she addressed him a bright smile. Drastan felt his head spinning as if he was tipsy. He straightened his back, returning Rebelle’s smile, and took a deep breath to calm down his heart, which was somersaulting in his chest.

Rebelle felt her knees wobbling and halted for a moment on the threshold, forcing herself to relax. By all the saints in paradise, she wasn’t about to confront an adversary in a duel, she was about to marry the man she loved with her all her heart! Appealing to all of her fierce determination as a warrior-maiden, she moved and began advancing, more marching than walking, until she joined Drastan. He offered her his hand, she took it, and together they moved the last few steps toward Harper.

The notary read the marriage contract aloud, informing the bride and groom about their reciprocal rights and duties and entrusting Rivendale to Drastan of Greenmere’s care, and then he asked them to confirm that they were joining into marriage out of their free will. After their positive answers, the bride and groom exchanged the rings and the ritual handshake, and Harper declared them formally husband and wife. Keeping his bride’s hand into his, Drastan drew her to him and, smiling, brushed her lips with a light kiss, but she threw her other arm around his neck and pressed her lips harder against his. When she withdrew, she addressed him an impish smile that had him grinning. His Rebelle had always to do things her way!

“Please sign here”, the notary said, showing a spot on the parchment. Drastan took the quill and appended his name at the end of the document, and Rebelle did likewise – nearly writing _Rebelle_ instead of _Isabelle_ – then Violet and Guy came forward to sign in turn in their quality of best man and matron of honour, as bride and groom kept holding their hands and looking amorously into each other’s eyes.

Watching them, William recalled his own wedding day and smiled, happy that his niece had found a man to love like his Adèle had found him.

After congratulating the bride and groom, they had a first toast with the dry cider that Rebelle liked so much. The peasants would celebrate with a rich banquet the second wedding in less than two months and they were definitely enthusiastic. Then, the party left Chetwood and headed for Rivendale, Rebelle, Drastan, Violet and Guy riding their horses, as well as William, followed by Robin and Marian on their carriage. With them went Harry, now head of the Chetwood guards, and two armigers.

In Rebelle’s estate, dozens of banners with the colours of the bride and the groom – gold and dark blue for her, light blue and green for him – decorated the mansion, the chapel and every visible building. The inhabitants welcomed the small party with jubilant shouts and applauses, lining up on both sides of the path leading to the small church, in front of which Brother Tuck was waiting for them in his best habit, a broad smile on his brown face. He had met Rebelle at Nottingham Castle, where she often came to see her cousin the baroness, and he had liked the warrior-maiden at once, recognising her as a kindred spirit. As he esteemed Drastan too, who he thought immediately to be a reliable man, deeply loyal to his sire, Tuck had been very glad to accept to impart the blessing onto these nuptials.

Drastan got off his horse first and approached Rebelle’s Friesian. The bride, not much used to have someone helping her dismounting, rose onto the left stirrup and passed her right leg over Blackfire’s back before realising that her groom was there to assist her. At this point, Drastan opened his arms laughing.

“Jump, my love!” he invited her. Laughing in turn, Rebelle did as suggested, throwing herself into her husband’s arms. He took advantage of the situation and gave her a less chaste kiss than the one they had exchanged in Chetwood. She didn’t complain at all and returned it, among the peasants’ enthusiastic shrieks.

They entered the chapel, walking solemnly as it was suitable to a couple of nobles. This required a certain amount of effort from Rebelle’s part, as she was much more used to march.

Tuck proceeded with the blessing, at the end of which the bride and groom exchanged a light kiss.

When the simple ceremony was over, everyone headed for the pavilion that had been set up at the back of the manor, where the wedding banquet would take place. All inhabitants of Rivendale had been invited to attend to it. The bride and groom’s table, where the best man and the matron of honour would be seated too, and the table for William, Robin, Marian and Tuck, were covered with white embroidered cloths and precious tableware in gold, silver and blown glass, and the chairs had been stuffed with cushions for the guests’ comfort. The tables for the peasants where instead simple wooden planks on trestles with benches, set with wooden dishes and beakers.

When everyone was seated, the Table Master received from the bride the signal to begin and so he signalled in turn to the servants, who began bringing the first course to the table, a cabbage and leek soup, seasoned with coriander. Then came a tasty deer stew with carrots, followed by grilled pike with a mixture of dried herbs that was a secret recipe of Roger, Rivendale Hall’s cook. Then came the main course, roasted boar with boiled cauliflower fried in butter, golden and crispy on the outside. In between courses, guests munched at fruits – apples, pears, grapes, cranberries, blueberries, plums and prunes – taking them from the small baskets on the table. In the meantime, jugglers, acrobats and singers performed their art in the free space in front of the bride and groom’s table. Then they had pastries with dates and figs, and finally came cheese with honey. As drinks, they could choose among red and white wine, cider, beer and fresh spring water aromatised with blueberry juice.

They ate and drank copiously for the best part of the afternoon, with the Rivendale peasants keeping shouting toasts to the bride and groom. Violet recalled her own wedding banquet, down to just seven people because for her, the wedding had been only a duty, though she had personally chosen her groom, and therefore she had had no desire for great celebrations. However, the memory didn’t bother her, considering how things had developed between her and her husband.

The shadows of the waning day were long when the last course – a cake with pears and sweet cream – was finished. At this point, it was time for the women to come and take the bride to the nuptial chamber. Violet beckoned Marian and both rose. Mawa too came, accompanied by one of the youngest maidservants, the sixteen-years-old Rose.

Invited by the four women, Rebelle rose, cast a glance full of promises – not even that much secretly – to her groom and then walked away.

“Well, Drastan”, Guy grinned, remembering perfectly how his friend had acted on _his_ wedding. “Let’s toast to your beautiful bride…”

He filled up Drastan’s goblet, but the fair-headed knight laughed.

“You won’t get me drunk, old chap!” he cried. “I wasn’t able to do it with you, you won’t be able to do it with me!” he leaned forward to his best man’s ear. “I want to be perfectly sober to enjoy my bride, if you know what I mean…”

Guy smirked, nodding, and took a sip from his goblet. He too had reasoned this way and he wouldn’t certainly prevent his friend to do likewise.

The peasants however tried to get the groom at least tipsy, calling for more toasts, to which Drastan answered pretending to drink and instead just wetting his lips.

After the first two toasts, Drastan lifted his cup to his bride’s uncle.

“Sir William”, he said in a loud voice. “You already know that I love your niece with all my heart. I promise you that I’ll do anything to make her happy, at any cost.”

William smiled.

“I’m sure of this, Drastan”, he countered, then he grinned. “However, ‘tis not to me you have to commit yourself, but to Rebelle. I’m sure that, should you not behave the right way with her, she won’t hesitate a bit to let you know loud and clear.”

Drastan laughed. “I have no doubts about this!”

Robin laughed in turn.

“A wife with a strong character guarantees a lively marriage”, he asserted. “You will say many things about your conjugal life, Sir Drastan, except ‘tis boring, and I toast to this!”

All those who heard him rose their beaker or goblet in response, and even those who hadn’t heard him did likewise, because every excuse was good to have a draught.

Then, Robin sobered.

“One more thing I’m going tell you, Sir Drastan”, he added. “A woman with a strong character doesn’t double, but _triples_ a man’s strength, and that of the family she’s going to start with him. You, me, and Gisborne as well, we are all lucky men.”

“I agree”, William declared, who not so long ago had expressed the same opinion. “And I number myself among the lucky men. Let’s toast to our brides!”

Again, everyone joined in and drank.

After an amount of time he judged suitable, Drastan rose.

“I’m going to join my bride”, he announced, though there was no need. Guy rose in turn to fulfil his duty as best man, seeing the groom to the nuptial chamber.

Robin too rose, looking forward to the usual foul-mouthed puns going with this moment, but to his great disappointment, Drastan declined firmly.

“You cannot escape the custom, Sir Drastan!” Robin protested. “Gisborne, tell him!”

He realised he had once more used the habitual name he gave to his now ex-adversary, instead of his title, but Guy didn’t seem to mind.

“I cannot, Locksley”, he in fact replied coolly. “If you remember well, at my wedding I too didn’t want any escort. Thus, I think I’m in no position to force Drastan.”

Robin made a frustrated face, grumbled and sat again, rising William’s benevolent mirth.

“See you Monday at the castle”, Guy then said, talking to the groom with a grin. Recalling what Drastan had told him, he added. “Try not overdoing or tomorrow you’ll walk crooked because of back pain…”

Recognising his own pun, the blond knight burst into laughter and, shaking his head, he walked away.

Guy was now alone at the table. Noting it, William exhorted Robin and Tuck to take their chairs and sit with the baron, waiting for Violet and Marian to return. As for him, William went and seated himself next to his son-in-law, onto the chair where Drastan had been previously sitting.

Soon enough, Marian returned. Robin invited his wife to sit next to him, onto the chair he had fetched for her. Seeing Guy’s quizzical gaze, Marian smiled.

“Violet stopped briefly by the kitchen”, she said. “She’s coming right up.”

A few minutes later, the Baroness of Nottingham joined her husband, bringing a mug for her father. She had an herbal tea prepared for him earlier, knowing William’s difficulties to digest meat. The elderly knight thanked her, a little moved by her thoughtfulness. Since his daughter had left Chetwood, he felt a little lonely, and now that Rebelle too had definitively left his house, the feeling had worsened, despite the loving care of the servants. However, he was aware that things had to work this way, and he had accepted it. 

Violet sat again next to Guy.

“How’s Rebelle?” William enquired, looking at his daughter. “She’s impatient to be with her husband, I think?”

His knowing tone made Violet suspicious.

“Ummm… aye, I’d say so”, she answered warily.

“You don’t think I didn’t notice that she and Drastan have already widely enjoyed the joys of married life, do you?” William grinned.

Violet was speechless, because she was positive that Rebelle had been very careful in her nightly escapades with Drastan, during the last few months. Nor her father had ever implied he was aware of their affair. 

“Oh, she’s been very discreet”, William assured his daughter, guessing her thoughts. “But after some time, I recognised certain subtle changes in her behaviour, and in Drastan’s”, he grinned. “I’m not blind, my dearest daughter, and ‘tis unlikely that two people, healthy and in love as they are, are capable to resist temptation. Actually, your mother and I too didn’t resist, though it happened only a few weeks before our wedding…”

Violet blushed. Her mother had told her this detail before she wedded Roganton, but naturally, it had been a woman-to-woman thing, and now Violet felt a little uncomfortable that her father was telling her. Those were topics that usually a male parent didn’t bring up with his female offspring, especially in the presence of a man of the cloth. Actually, Brother Tuck was just a short distance away and had heard very clearly.

Seeing the young baroness’ embarrassed glance, the monk smiled at her in a reassuring way.

“Of course, the Church does disapprove the carnal knowledge before marriage”, he said serenely. “However, as I haven’t always been a monk, I know perfectly that this happens very often. What matters is that the involved man and women later join in the sacred bond of marriage, exactly as Lady Isabelle and Sir Drastan just did.”

“I think that those who deny carnal desire are very hypocrite”, Guy affirmed straightaway. He liked Tuck, but this didn’t prevent him to tease him often regarding what he thought the moralistic phonies of the Church, and the ex-soldier never backed down, also because for most things he felt the same way as Guy.

“In fact, St. Paul wrote that _‘tis better to marry than burn_ ”, the friar replied, quoting the first letter of the saint to the Corinthians. “Nobody denies carnal desire, but the Church exhorts to contain it into marriage.”

“However, there are men of the cloth who don’t follow this exhortation and let themselves be tempted by the flesh”, Robin observed, having met several of the kind.

Tuck nodded.

“Unfortunately ‘tis true”, he admitted, unperturbed. “But ‘tis a matter of conscience and God won’t fail to judge them basing on this too, when their time comes.”

“And all too often, they’re the ones thundering against the other’s dissoluteness”, William intervened, shaking his head in reproach.

“Hypocrites, as I said before”, Guy concluded in a fierce tone.

“I agree”, Tuck said placidly.

Violet smiled secretly, amused. The discussions between her husband and the friar always ended in a tie.

“The party’s almost over”, she observed, rising. “Mawa will take care that everything is cleaned up and put back, so we’re free to go home.”

“Very well”, Guy said, rising in turn. “Sir William, shall we go back to Chetwood with you? ‘Tis not a long detour, for us.”

“Nay, thank you”, the elderly gentleman answered. “I have my escort”, he reminded them, referring to Harry and the other two guards.

Robin and Marian took their leave, then they got into the carriage and headed to Locksley with their escort. Violet, Guy and William took the road to Nottingham, from which at a certain point the path to Chetwood branched.

As they rode on side by side, William turned to his daughter and son-in-law.

“Today I noticed you’re going along very well, you two”, he said. “I’d say that affection has developed between you. Am I wrong?”

Violet smiled.

“You’re not wrong, father”, she confirmed. “Actually, ‘tis more than affection”, she cast a loving glance to her husband. “We found out we love each other, like you and mother.”

“Wonderful!” William cried, happy with the news. He couldn’t have wished for a better outcome, as both his daughter and his niece had made a love match, something pretty rare for nobility. “May I hope I’ll become a grandfather soon?”

Violet felt her ears burning and Guy cleared his throat, slightly uncomfortable because it is never an easy task speaking to a man about the fact you’re bedding his daughter, even in the sacred bond of marriage.

“Let’s say we’re working on it”, be muttered. William grinned, amused by his son-in-law attitude. Never had he seen Guy of Gisborne embarrassed. Goodness, how much he had changed, since the wicked Vaisey had died!

“Very well”, he said, without pushing it further.

Soon enough, they arrived at the fork that on one side led to Chetwood and on the other to Nottingham. Here, they took their leave from one another, each heading home with their own guards.


	29. Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXIX

Nottingham, September 21st, 1194

Two days after Violet’s rescue, Guy had sent several trustful guards to the fiefs of the three Black Knights to check on the reactions about their deaths. He doubted that anyone would bring charges against him, as not only Rotherham, Spencer and Buckingham had perpetrated one of the most dishonourable crimes – the abduction of a noblewoman – but they had done it for reasons that, if known, would take them straight to the gallows. Besides, Guy had acted on his right, going to the rescue of his abducted wife with a group who had confronted the barons’ group on equal terms and had won after an honourable combat, and not a cowardly ambush.

Ten days later, the two men who had been sent to Rotherham were the first to return and Guy received them at once. When they finished their report, he sent them to grab something to eat, giving them one day off before returning to duty, and then he went to see Violet: He found her in her parlour as she checked the fief’s books, something she did once a week.

“The men I sent to Rotherham are back”, he announced. Violet gave him immediately her full attention.

“What tidings do they bear?” she asked.

“The baron’s cadaver has been carried home four days ago by one of the soldiers who survived the fight”, Guy told her. “He justified his sire’s death saying they were assailed by an overwhelming number of brigands. He never mentioned neither Buckingham nor Spencer.”

Violet nodded, not at all surprised by this omission, as it wasn’t in anyone’s interest that their dark league would become known.

“And how did Rotherham’s family react?” she enquired.

“His wife died a couple of years ago. His only son and heir didn’t look much saddened, but considering ‘twas common knowledge his father mistreated him, I’m not surprised at all. He had a hurried private funeral celebrated and immediately took the title.”

Again, Violet nodded.

“One reaps what he sows”, she commented tersely. “Anything else?”

Guy shook his head. Actually, there was something else but, knowing that Violet would feel bad, he had decided he would leave it out of the news. It was about the soldier who had carried home Rotherham’s body, the one she had hit in the arm with an arrow she had been forced to leave into the wound, because in the middle of the forest she had no suitable tools to take it out safely. The wound had festered and they had been forced to amputate the arm, but the soldier had died a few hours after the operation. Violet had shot the arrow to hit Much’s opponent in a non-lethal place, then she had done her best to cure him, but Guy knew she would nonetheless feel guilty. He didn’t want this to happen and thus he had decided he wasn’t going to tell her. He recalled he had said that it wasn’t right for spouses to keep things from one another, when he had accepted to marry her and had guessed she wasn’t telling him something. However, in this case Guy thought that sparing her pain was more important than complete information, and he felt justified.

OOO

The following day, after breakfast, Guy headed for Knighton Hall, which rebuilding had been completed a few days earlier.

When he arrived, he saw the carriage with Locksley’s insignia parked in front of the mansion, revealing that Robin and Marian were already there.

Guy got off his horse in front of the stables, which had been rebuilt exactly as they had been as much as the main house. A groom came out and approached him.

“Lord Sheriff”, he greeted him with a respectful bow. Guy recognised him.

“Hullo, Jason”, he said, handing him Darkshadow’s reins. “Give him some water.”

“Of course, my lord.”

Guy took a scroll from the saddlebag, then he headed for the entrance. He knocked at the door and waited. Technically, he could enter without asking permission, as Knighton Hall was presently his property, but he thought that showing respect for the future owners was no bad idea. The truce with Robin was holding, but they were still on the outs. The would never be friends, but they could at least act civilly, also because neither of them wanted to disappoint his wife.

A middle-aged woman opened the door.

“Welcome, Lord Nottingham”, she said formally, curtseying. “Please, come in.”

Unlike Jason, Guy didn’t know this maidservant’s name, though he had seen her other times at Knighton. The woman preceded him and saw him to the great hall, which was furnished with just a long table and a few chairs and benches. An already opened inkpot and a long quill were placed on the table.

“Lord Nottingham’s here”, the maidservant said, moving aside to let him in. Entering into the room, Guy saw Marian and Robin seated before the lighted fireplace. The room was still rather chilly, indicating that the fired had been just recently lit.

“Gisborne”, Robin said frostily, rising to meet him.

“Locksley”, Guy returned with equal frostiness. They would never be on enough friendly terms to call each other by given name, but neither were they a stranger to one another as to call each other by their title, that is, Nottingham and Huntingdon, therefore they stuck to the names they had always used.

Guy walked over to Marian and bowed to her. “Marian, you look well.”

The pregnancy – now at the end of the fifth month – was doing good to the Countess of Huntingdon, who looked radiant, to say the least.

“Thank you, Guy”, she said with a sweet smile. “You too look well”, then she turned to the maidservant, still lingering by the door, “You can go, Goda.”

The woman curtseyed and walked quickly away.

Guy placed the scroll onto the table and unrolled it as Robin came up to him.

“This is the deed of transfer of Knighton’s property”, Guy said straightaway. “’Tis been written and signed by the notary, Harper, with my seal and signature. You need only to countersign it her, Locksley”, he concluded, pointing to an empty space on the lower part of the document.

Robin frowned and crossed his arms on his chest.

“You cannot transfer the property of something that’s not yours to give” he observed in a biting tone.

“The old baron has legally confiscated Knighton, therefore by the law it belongs to me”, Guy bit back. “I could demand a hefty sum, especially considering that the house is brand new”, he crossed his arms on his chest, mimicking Robin’s stance. “However, I won’t do that. The transfer is for free.”

For once, Robin was speechless. He was expecting a request for money, more or less reasonable, and he was preparing to negotiate fiercely as he had learnt from the Saracens, but Guy’s declaration had blown him away.

“Thank you so much, Guy”, Marian intervened amiably. “You’re very generous.”

Guy turned his head to look at her and was about to speak, but at that moment Robin found his voice again.

“Why are you doing this, Gisborne?” he enquired, despite all still sceptic. “How’s possible you don’t want anything in return?”

Guy glared at him.

“I’m doing it because ‘tis the right thing to do”, he stated through clenched teeth. “And no, I don’t want anything in return, not even your thanks. Marian’s are enough.”

Once again, Robin had to confront with Guy’s transformation. It wasn’t easy for him to accept it as real and therefore he kept falling into the same old scheme of enmity and aversion. He didn’t like it, thus he decided to do something to change. Of course, always in his ironic style.

“I must admit that I like the new Gisborne”, he muttered. “And this frightens me.”

Guy stared at him, unsure on how to interpret this statement. Robin returned his gaze, a spark of amusement in his own. A corner of Guy’s mouth twitched in the beginning of a lopsided smirk. Robin pressed his lips together, trying to hold back a grin. The corner of Guy’s mouth rose further. Robin bit the inner side of his cheek as to prevent himself from laughing, but he couldn’t manage it completely and a kind of snort came out. For a moment, on Guy’s face appeared a half-smile.

Marian laughed openly instead.

“How much longer will you two insist keeping this absurd little game going on?” she asked them, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous!”

Both stared at her without realising about what she was speaking. Or better, they knew exactly already, but neither of them wanted to admit it. Marian rolled her eyes and moved her hand as if swatting an annoying fly.

“Come on, Robin, sign that document”, she invited him in a peremptory tone, surely more an order than a suggestion. “So you’ll quit it.”

The Earl of Huntingdon pulled a face to definitively erase the smile that obstinately kept tugging at his lips and snatched the scroll. He read carefully – just to show he still didn’t trust Gisborne – and then, as he found nothing to complain about it, he seized the quill, dipped it into the inkpot and signed.

“That’s settled”, he said, placing down the quill. The document would stay in his care, as confirmation of the transaction.

Guy nodded curtly.

“Very well”, he said, “Then, we’re done her. Have a nice day, Locksley. And you too, Marian”, he concluded in a gentler tone, bowing slightly to her.

“You too, Guy”, Marian returned, while Robin just nodded towards him.

When Guy left, Robin brought the document to Marian and gave it to her.

“Knighton is yours again”, he said.

“Yours, actually”, Marian rectified, accepting the scroll. “As my husband, legally you’re the owner of all my belongings.”

Robin shrugged.

“ _Legally_ , aye, but for me, Knighton will always be only yours. You’ll run it in whatever way you deem right, and you’ll bequeath it to any of our children. Or you’ll give it to the Church. In short, you’re free to do whatever you want with it.”

“Thank you”, Marian answered, aware that very few husbands would be so liberal. She caressed her baby bump. “Our firstborn son will inherit Huntingdon, of course, therefore Knighton will go to our second born son, or to our firstborn daughter as a dowry”, she decided. Robin smiled: Marian always knew what she wanted. Her strong-willed character was a quality that had drawn him to her since the beginning, despite being it sometimes the reason of arguments between them. However, he liked it because it allowed him to have a different point of view that, very often, was better than his own, or they melted to form a shared one that was more effective than the two separated points of views. Theirs was not only a shared love, but also a partnership between two people who wanted what’s best for each other and that therefore brought benefits to both.

“This is a long-term plan”, he observed, back to practical things. “In the meantime, how do you want to proceed?”

“I’ll entrust the old steward, Harold, with running Knighton. I trust him completely, I know he’ll do a good job.”

“I agree.”

They kept making plans for a long time, starting to issue orders in consequence. Harold was very happy and honoured that Marian had chosen him for running the estate and assured her he would have Knighton and its inhabitant thrive. Marian only recommended to hire again the staff that had worked in the mansion before the fire – Goda was among them – and then she would leave entirely it to him.

When they left Knighton Hall to go back to Locksley, the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon were content. Things were going very well and the sole remaining shadow cast over them was the ban still lingering on Robin’s head, but that King Richard would surely lift as soon as he would return to England.

OOO

Guy returned to Nottingham, where they were holding the twice-weekly market. Passing in front of the booth of Locksley’s potter, Rebecca, he was struck by a basin decorated with a floral pattern of violets. It came with a ewer equally decorated. Impulsively, he halted his horse and got off the saddle.

“How much for these?” he asked Kate, Rebecca’s daughter, who promised to become as skilled as her mother was in the art of manufacturing earthenware.

“Three silver coins”, the blonde girl answered in a bold tone. It was a definitively excessive price, but Guy appreciated her audaciousness.

“I’ll give you one”, he therefore said, hiding his amusement under the usual frown. “And five copper coins if you have them taken to the castle, directly to my wife the Lady Violet”, he added, fishing into his pouch.

“We have a deal, Lord Sheriff”, Kate accepted. “I’ll send my brother Matthew at once.”

Satisfied, Guy gave her the agreed sum, then he got again on his horse and resumed the path to the castle.

Rebecca, who had followed the exchange a few yards away, stepped beside her daughter.

“I bet ‘tis a gift for his wife”, she commented, looking at the baron who was riding slowly away. “’Tis rumoured he’s madly in love with her.”

“Yea”, Kate confirmed. “If just six months ago someone would tell me that Guy of Gisborne would change so much, I’d call he or her crazy.”

“Me too”, Rebecca admitted, shrugging and turning to the counter. “Come, let’s put the pieces into a basket and then we send Matthew to the castle with it.”

Kate nodded and helped her mother to place the ewer and the basin into a wicker basket, and then her younger brother ran off to deliver it to the sheriff’s wife.

OOO

After finishing of taking stock with Joanna about the supplies they had to order, Violet had retired in her small sitting room – which she also used as a study – to accordingly update the books. Sally’s arrival interrupted her as she knocked on the door, announcing a boy with a delivery for the baroness. Matthew entered carrying the basket and, blushing profusely, he handed it to Violet with a deep bow.

“Fro… From the Lord Sheriff’s part”, he stuttered, feeling overawed at being in the presence of the very Baroness of Nottingham.

“Thank you”, said Violet, pleasantly surprised. “Sally, take this young man to the kitchen and tell Joanna to give him a slice of cake or, if she has none, bread and sausage.”

“Tha… Thank you, my lady”, the boy babbled, taking his leave along with the maidservant.

Violet placed the basket on the table and removed the jug and the basin from it. She appreciated the workmanship, solid but also refined. When she caught sight of the violets painted on them, she felt a lump of emotion in her throat. This wasn’t the first time Guy would surprise her with gifts clearly thought for her. He had started with the engagement rings, when he had small amethysts set into them to refer to her name and to her favourite colour. From that moment on, other gifts had come, from very simple ones like flowers or fruits, to more costly items like a silver necklace with an amethyst pendant he had expressly ordered to Drewmore to match the ring that had been Adèle’s, or subtler gestures, like ordering her favourite cake instead of his at dinner. Tears of joy and gratitude welled up in her eyes as she considered that, when she had learnt she had to remarry, she would never hope in such a happy marriage. Her tears soon stopped as a naughty grin curved her lips at the thought of how she would _thank_ her husband tonight…

OOO

Violet threw back her head as pleasure shot through her, so deep that it robbed her even of enough breath to scream. Under her, Guy trembled, clutching her hips as he joined his wife in the ecstasy of fulfilment.

Their conjugal confidence had greatly increased during the last three weeks, as they had spent every single night together, making love even several times in a row. Guy had invited her to show how much she desired him each time she would feel like it, exactly as he did. Therefore tonight, with the excuse to wanting thank him for his gift, Violet had taken the initiative and decided to repeat an experience she had very much appreciate when her husband had made her try it first: she had straddled him, and Guy had been very happy to indulge her.

Violet descended slowly from the vertiginous height Guy had led her. Trying to calm her breath, she lay down on him, stretching her legs beside his.

“My husband”, she whispered. “You leave me each time stupefied.”

Guy had felt her shuddering in pleasure around himself and this had satisfied him more than his own fulfilment. He dragged up the covers, which had slipped down during their lovemaking, because despite the blazing fire, the room wasn’t exactly warm, as they were now at the end of September.

“And you leave _me_ stupefied, my blossom”, he returned sincerely her statement. Encouraged and guided by him, Violet was learning to enjoy freely the conjugal love, getting over qualms and modesty, letting herself go to passion, and all this because she trusted him completely, with no reservations. When he thought about it, Guy still hardly believed to his luck.

Violet drew back and nestled into Guy’s arms, resting her head on his shoulder. He kissed her lips, tenderly. They relaxed for some time, basking in the afterglow of their lovemaking as they always used to do.

They had made love several times also during the day, and not only in Violet’s or Guy’s bed, but taking advantage of some hidden corner somewhere in the castle, and once even in Guy’s workroom. Violet had dismissed the guard that always watched the door, then she had walked in and had pulled the latch, seducing her husband, which hadn’t requested much effort. She had tried out one of the positions Rebelle had told her about some time before, so she had sat in Guy’s lap, and she had found it exciting and very agreeable.

That had been the first time she had shown so much initiative and cheekiness, following her husband’s exhortation to show him all of her desire for him, exactly as she had done now. Recalling the episode into the study, Violet chuckled.

Guy loved the sound of his wife’s laugh. Guessing the reason could be rather _brash_ , he chuckled in turn.

“What’s so amusing?” he enquired.

“I was thinking about the time I came to your workroom to… play horsy”, Violet explained, chuckling harder. Guy’s grin broadened.

“I hope we’ll do that again soon”, he murmured.

“You can count on it”, Violet assured him with yet another giggle, then she sighed. “But now ‘tis best if we sleep. Tomorrow morning I have to get up early to take care of the preparations for the weekly laundry.”

“Sometimes I curse the nobility obliges”, Guy grumbled. He saw Violet raising her head from his shoulder and looking at him impishly. “When you make that face, my wife, you’re thinking about something _very_ naughty”, he affirmed, lifting one corner of his mouth in his typical lopsided smile.

“Actually, that’s precisely the case”, Violet admitted. “Drastan is a very competent deputy and he would easily cover for you for a couple of days. We could go and lock ourselves up into Vaisey’s hunting lodge, the one Rebelle and Drastan brazenly used for their lovemaking before marrying. We could stay in bed the whole time...”

“Now that’s an excellent idea”, Guy murmured. Just imagining the situation stirred his virility into a new erection, despite the recent fulfilment. Good heavens, he had never enough of his wife... and seemingly she had never enough of him either.

“Then we’re going to do it soon”, Violet suggested. “If some kind of emergency happens that Drastan cannot manage – but I can hardly imagine it – he’ll know where to find us, and he’ll send for you. From the castle, ‘tis just half an hour away on horseback.”

“Looks like you’re thinking about it for some time”, Guy insinuated, arching an eyebrow. Violet shook her head. “Only about the fact I’d love to be alone with you, but as for the details, they’re coming to my mind just now. As much as concerning food: let’s take with us only already prepared things, so we won’t waste time cooking...”

At this point, Guy laughed heartily, a pleasure he had forgotten for almost twenty years, precisely from the fire in which his parents died, a pleasure that he had found again thanks to Violet and her love.

“You’re truly a shameless little imp, my lady wife... and you have no idea how much I like that!”

In spite of her new boldness, Violet felt her cheeks heating up. As much as her level of modesty with Guy was now extremely low, it would never disappear completely, because it was part of her personality. However, though she had blushed a little, she didn’t look away from her husband’s gaze, because she knew he truly appreciated her straightforwardness in their intimacy. She smiled at him, pleased, and kissed him once more, before preparing to sleep.

OOO

On the following day, Sir Much of Bonchurch and Eve got married. Robin, Marian, Guy and Violet attended the wedding. Little John and his wife and son were there, too. Allan A Dale, still convalescent, to his great regret wasn’t able to go, but Sally cheered him up with her presence. The two of them had developed a bond in those days and Violet had begun suspecting that there was a thing between them.

The wedding ceremony and the following feast were very similar to those held in Rivendale for Rebelle and Drastan, with the difference that Robin and Little John succeeded in getting Much drunk – or so they thought, because when the moment came to rise and head for the nuptial chamber, the Lord of Bonchurch, ostensibly plastered, took his leave from everybody in a perfectly lucid way, and then walked away steadfastly and without staggering at all. His two friends were so knocked out, they forgot to escort him like the custom demanded, and their faces were so comical that Violet, Marian and Alice – Little John’s wife – split their sides laughing, and even Guy grinned.

The shy Much had played them all!

OOO

A couple of days later, the two guards sent to Buckingham returned to the castle and, three more days later, also the two sent to Spencer’s fief. The news they were bringing were identical to those that had come from Rotherham: bandits had assailed the two noblemen and their escort. Spencer’s wife and five sons seemed to genuinely grieve over his death, while apparently no one mourned for Buckingham, who was a bachelor, not even his brother. The latter had been forced to take the vows as not to share in the fatherly inheritance and he was now a bishop, but he would leave the ecclesiastical post to take up the barony.

“So you don’t have anything to worry about anymore?” Violet asked her husband anxiously.

“From the part of the Black Knights certainly not”, Guy answered. “However, the issue with the king still stands.”

Violet shook her head.

“Marian was categorical”, she said, reminding him of a conversations she had told him she had had with the Countess of Huntingdome some time before, “The king passed out after falling from his horse. No way he’s seen you.”

“I know, but until the king won’t be back and doesn’t prosecute me, I cannot feel safe.”

Unlike Guy, Violet was an optimist. However, she was a realistic person, too, and she knew perfectly that there _could_ be a chance, even if just the slightest, that Richard had seen Guy’s face.

“In this case, Robin and Marian will testify in your favour”, she affirmed. By now, her childhood friend was convinced that Guy was sincerely repentant about his past misdeeds, though the two still bickered like spiteful children. At this point, however, it was clear that they behaved this way because they liked _posing_ this way, while actually it was no longer hostility.

“In this case, I hope it’ll be enough”, Guy sighed. Violet clasped his hands firmly.

“I want to believe it”, she affirmed. He brought her hands to his lips, turned them and kissed her palms.

“Thank you, my wife”, he whispered. “You’re my strength…”

His assertion moved Violet deeply. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him desperately.


	30. Chapter XXX

Chapter XXX

Sherwood Forest, October 3rd, 1194

The fire crackled in the large stone hearth, lighting and warming the room. Violet and Guy were laying on the bed, which was simple as much as comfortable, cuddling under the blankets after the umpteenth time they had made love during that day.

They had come at the hunting lodge early the day before, and since then, they had never left the bed except for physiological needs or to grab something to eat and drink out of their saddlebags.

“I admit that the task to make a baby is incredibly pleasurable”, Violet chuckled. Guy burst into laughter, because he adored this playful and naughty side of his wife.

“I’m very happy you feel this way”, he declared, sweetly caressing one of her breasts. He depicted in his mind a newborn baby breastfeeding in Violet’s arms and he felt his heart swelling at the idea of becoming a father.

This thought reminded him that he actually was a father _already_. His mood sobered as he wondered how little Seth was doing. By now he was two and a half years old and, since he had _abandoned_ him in the forest – counting on the fact Locksley and his gang would find him – he hadn’t met him ever again. He still kept sending money anonymously to Annie, Seth’s mother, as he had started doing since he had been able to discover where she and the baby had moved to after leaving Nottingham. However, now the perspective to have another child – this time a legitimate one – made him feel as if he wasn’t doing enough for Seth, who would anyway remain his firstborn.

“Why the sigh?”

Violet’s slightly anxious question dragged him out of his cogitations. He hadn’t realised he had heaved a sigh. He met Violet’s gaze, as she had raised her head from his shoulder to watch him closely, her face expressing worry. He hesitated, because if he told her his thoughts, he might ruin the loving and exciting atmosphere they were living and he didn’t want that.

“’Tis nothing”, he therefore tried to reassure her. Violet shook her head.

“Don’t try to give me the _‘tis nothing_ thing, not even to protect me”, she said in a reproaching tone. “Though I appreciate your intentions, I’m your wife and no child. Spill the beans.”

Her authoritarian tone amused him and, at the same time, heartened him. Locksley was right: a strong woman with a strong character triples a man’s strength.

“Thinking about our future children made me think about Seth”, he therefore admitted. “I tried to do for him everything I could, but since I became the Baron of Nottingham, I believe I can do more. However, I feel that just sending more money to his mother is still not enough...”

Violet was silent for some moments, then she rested her head again on her husband’s shoulder.

“Do you wish to... acknowledge him?” she asked softly.

“Nay”, Guy answered at once. “An acknowledgement from my part could cast a shadow on the barony’s line of succession, despite King Richard’s clear instructions. This would draw the attention of the Crown on me, and of course I want to avoid this, at any cost”, he glanced at her resolutely. “Besides, I don’t want to hurt your feelings, equalising the son I have had from another woman to the children I’ll have with you.”

Violet felt relieved. She was not selfish, but she was well aware that, if Seth was acknowledged as Guy’s firstborn son, there was a chance for him to claim the barony for himself, jumping over the children born from his father’s legitimate marriage. It had happened before, and that was the reason why noblemen avoided acknowledgements of bastard children, except they had no other choice to keep their fief and not being forced to give it back to the Crown because there were no legitimate heirs.

However, the reasoning left a bitter taste in Violet’s mouth, because she thought it was unfair that little Seth would had nothing, while her children would have everything.

An idea struck her. She propped on one elbow to look again at her husband.

“What about giving him Gisborne?” she suggested.

Her proposal astounded Guy.

“Gisborne no longer exists”, he reminded her.

“Neither did Knighton”, Violet observed. “But you had it restored and, though technically you gave it to Robin, you actually gave it back to Marian through her husband. Any chance you could restore Gisborne too and give it to Seth?”

Guy realised his wife wanted to please him, and he felt sorry he had to disillusion her.

“I was able to do it with Knighton because the estate had been legally confiscated by Vaisey and therefore I could do with it whatever I wanted”, he reminded her. “Gisborne instead is Locksley’s property. I suppose that he wouldn’t mind if I would rebuild Gisborne to my expense, but he wouldn’t have any reason to assign its ownership to my bastard son.”

“You could purchase it. You don’t lack means, and currently Gisborne has a low value. I don’t think Robin would refuse to sell it, if you explain what you want to do with it.”

Guy wrinkled his brow, doubtful.

“Locksley’s not fond of me”, he reminded her. “And I think he’ll never be. Why should he help me to provide a position to the illegitimate son I had from a maidservant?”

“Because ‘twas him who saved Seth in the forest”, Violet reminded him. “And because he knows that you left the baby in that exact spot so that he and his men could find him.”

“He knows? Or does he just suppose it?”

“He knows, because I told him after you confirmed it to me, the day I asked you to marry me.”

Guy was silent, pondering about the whole thing. Actually, his wife’s idea was sensible. No, more than that: it was _excellent_.

“I’m going to do as you say”, he decided at length.

“And should Robin be difficult, I’ll put in a word for you”, Violet smiled. Guy kissed her hair.

“In this case, your plan will surely succeed”, he commented.

OOO

“I have a business proposition for you, Locksley”, Guy started, getting right to the point.

He was visiting the Earl and Countess of Huntingdon with Violet. They were seated in the Great Hall in front of a crackling fire, sipping hot cider.

Robin glanced at the sheriff.

“Let’s hear it”, he invited him.

“I want to purchase Gisborne. I shall rebuild the mansion and, when I’m done, I’ll give the estate to my son Seth.” Realising that both Robin and Marian were staring at him, astounded, he added. “Violet suggested this idea.”

Their eyes wandered to the baroness, who nodded with a smile.

“A wonderful idea”, Marian declared a few moments later. More pragmatic than her husband, she had been the first to recover from surprise. “Robin, you should accept.”

“Oh, well…” the Earl of Huntingdon mumbled, still at a loss of words. He perfectly remembered the baby boy, and he even got to love him in the short time he had taken care of him. If Gisborne wanted to ensure a better future to his illegitimate son, Robin couldn’t certainly back out. “Let’s hear how much you offer.”

“The market price plus ten percent.”

“Very generous from your part, but nay.”

Guy narrowed his eyes, setting his jaw. The negotiations wouldn’t be as simple as he had wished.

“Not enough? Alright, twenty percent...”

“Nay, Gisborne”, Robin interrupted him, raising one hand. “I thank you for the more than adequate offer, but I have no intention to sell the estate,” he paused to look at his wife’s reproving face and to Gisborne and Violet’s disappointed expressions, then he smiled from ear to ear. “I will give it to you for free”, he waited to see the reaction of the bystanders, whose faces showed utter shock. “I don’t like to owe you, Gisborne. This way, I reciprocate your present of Knighton and we’re even”, he concluded with a grin.

Guy was about to protest, then he thought better of it. He himself wouldn’t like to owe Locksley, thus he understood Locksley’s state of mind.

“Agreed”, he therefore accepted. “Do we have a deal?”

Robin grasped the hand the baron was offering.

“We have a deal”, he confirmed.

On the way back to Nottingham, Violet asked her husband, “Now what will be your course of action?”

“First of all, I’ll have Gisborne Manor rebuilt”, Guy answered. “Then, when ‘tis ready, I’ll send for Annie...” seeing his wife shaking her head, he wrinkled his brow. “Nay?”

“Better you go in person”, Violet suggested.

“Annie could slam her door in my face. When she learned I had _abandoned_ Seth in the forest, she tried to kill me, and I cannot blame her...”

“Oh”, breathed Violet. She didn’t know anything about this. “Then, next time you’re going to send her money, have a message delivered to her, revealing that you are the donor. Mayhap Annie does already suspect it and won’t be surprised. Make the messenger tell her you wish to meet her to talk about Seth’s future.”

“What if she refuses because she doesn’t trust me?”

Violet pondered.

“There’s a chance she might”, she admitted slowly. “What if Robin is the messenger? She surely trusts _him_...”

Guy smiled.

“You’re incredible”, he said in an admiring tone, “You have a solution for everything.”

She laughed. “I wish it were true! But thank you anyway.”

Guy shook his head, smiling slightly. Violet may be a modest woman, but the truth was that her sharp mind and her great common sense enabled her to find solutions to problems with an admirable readiness, and he thought he was very fortunate he could benefit from it.

“It’ll take a few months”, he went on. “Mainly because winter is coming and the work will slow down because of bad weather and snow, but when everything’s ready, I’ll invite Annie to move in there with Seth.”

“Looks like an excellent plan to me”, Violet approved quietly.

Guy wondered about what his wife was really feeling as they talked of the son he had had from another woman. He nudged Darkshadow to move nearer to Snowflake and took Violet’s hand, pulling the reins at the same time. A little surprised, Violet did as much, halting her white stallion.

“My blossom... You know that my heart is only yours, don’t you?” Guy asked her. Violet gazed at him in amazement.

“Of course I know... Why should I doubt it?” she asked.

“Because I’m worrying about the future of the son I had from another woman. Doesn’t this... bother you?”

Violet shook her head.

“I knew about Seth’s existence long before marrying you”, she reminded him. “If there _was_ something bothering me, ‘twas knowing you didn’t care for him, but I suspected at once that the abandonment had been devised and that the money Annie was receiving came from you.”

“But aren’t you jealous, not even slightly?” Guy insisted, wanting to examine the topic in depth.

“Aye, a little”, Violet admitted with the honesty that characterised her. “What women wouldn’t? But I know you’re only mine, now, both because you’re my husband and because I know you love me and no other woman. Annie is the past, what went on between you two is long over. However, Seth is your son, blood of your blood, and he deserves the best you can give him.”

Moved, Guy brought Violet’s hand to his lips and kissed its palm.

“My lady wife”, he murmured. “I love you more than ever...”

OOO

The following week, a messenger from London came to Nottingham from the Queen Mother. Guy and Violet learnt that King Richard had been taken prisoner a few months earlier by the Duke of Austria Leopold V, who was demanding a huge ransom. Eleanor of Aquitaine was dipping into her own pockets and into the Crown’s riches, but it wasn’t enough, therefore they had set up a heavy property levy, and moreover, they were confiscating riches in gold and silver belonging to the clergy. Strong discontent was spreading throughout England and many barons were protesting vigorously – some of them even threatening to take up arms – but Guy didn’t say a word, both because he didn’t want to draw attention upon him, for any reason whatsoever, and because the great wealth that Vaisey had unduly amassed covered the ponderous tax more than enough, without breaking into the _official_ treasure of the barony.

Thus, they handed the strongboxes with gold and silver equivalent to one quarter of the property valour over to the tax collector. When the latter was gone, Violet suddenly began to chuckle.

“Vaisey stole that money with a view to financing his insane plan to seize England’s throne. Now ‘tis going to pay part of King Richard’s ransom”, she explained to her husband, who was looking at her bewildered. “Isn’t it ironic?”

Guy hadn’t thought about it and now he grinned.

“Truly very ironic, aye”, he confirmed.

OOO

It was almost mid-December and Christmas was coming fast. Snow covered everything and it was very cold as the preparations for the most awaited and beloved celebration of the year were made.

Fred came to Violet, who was bent over the books, checking gains and losses.

“My lady, a messenger from Locksley has arrived”, he announced. “Lady Marian is in labour.”

The baroness shoved her chair forcefully back and sprang to her feet.

“Go to the stables at once and have Snowflake saddled”, she ordered. “Also send someone to warn my husband that I’m off to Locksley.”

Violet had already helped several women to deliver their children, at first as her mother’s assistant and then after returning to Chetwood – during her time in Roganton she hadn’t been allowed to do it – but after becoming the Baroness of Nottingham, this would be the first.

While Fred rushed to carry out her orders, Violet hurried to her workroom and grabbed the things she had previously readied in anticipation of the call, mainly herbs to ease the pain of the travailing woman. There was a midwife in Locksley – as in almost all the hamlets in the county – but though she was experienced, she hadn’t the notions of a healer, especially concerning cleanliness, and Violet was determined to instruct her about this, as she had done in Chetwood already.

The baby was born with no complications in the late evening of December 14th, 1194, wailing at the top of its lungs. After cleaning it with a cloth, Githa – the midwife – handed it to the mother, who was exhausted but happy. Marian held it gently and put the baby to her breast. The newborn began suckling at once, this way boosting the production of maternal milk.

After cleaning up Marian, Violet went downstairs to the main hall, where Robin was waiting, terrified like all new fathers. Guy had reached Locksley soon after his wife and had kept company to the earl, along with Little John. Though looking still ill-disposed towards Gisborne, on this occasion the formidable peasant had avoided hostile attitudes.

“’Tis a boy”, Violet announced, beaming. “Healthy and robust.”

Robin sprang to his feet, a big smile illuminating his face.

“A boy!” he exulted. He would be equally pleased if it were a girl, but he was glad that the succession for Huntingdon had been secured. “How’s Marian?” he asked then immediately afterwards.

“She’s tired as one can expect, but she’s fine”, Violet assured him.

Guy came over to them.

“Felicitations, Locksley”, he said, patting his ex-adversary’s shoulder.

“Thank you...”

Little John joined them, on his face a smile as large as the new father’s.

“Congratulations, Robin!” he cried, crushing his friend in a bear-hug. “What will you call him?”

“Richard, like our king”, the Earl of Huntingdon answered.

“Let’s have a toast!” the big man pressed.

“Of course”, Robin assured him. “However, I want to see Marian and my son before, if possible.”

He glanced at Violet quizzically. She nodded, so he rushed upstairs, taking the steps two at a time.

“Well, my throat’s parched and I won’t wait to have a toast for the baby’s health”, Little John announced firmly, grabbing a pitcher of beer and pouring himself a beaker. “We can always toast again when Robin’s back downstairs.”

“You have a point, Little John”, Violet admitted laughing. “I too am thirsty.”

Guy poured himself and his wife some cider.

“To Richard!” Little John thundered, raising his beaker.

“To Richard”, Guy and Violet echoed him.

Only after drinking, the big peasant realised that he had toasted with Gisborne, whom he had held as an enemy until just before. This awareness revealed that it was no longer so. They would never be friends, he was sure of this, but now he had no reason anymore to see the Baron of Nottingham as an antagonist.

OOO

In the last days of the year, after the payment of the ransom, King Richard returned to England and busied himself at once in strengthening his position, weakened by Prince John’s scheming. As soon as he heard about his brother’s release, John took shelter in Normandy, and for the moment Richard left him alone, as he was more concerned into regaining those barons who, in his absence, had pledged their loyalty to his treacherous brother.

Richard had also to start planning the recovery of the lands Philip II of France had stolen from him with John’s complicity, which were East Normandy and the towns of Le Vaudreuil, Évreaux and Verneuil. For this reason, Richard neglected Nottingham, also because Eleanor of Aquitaine had told him that Adèle’s daughter had followed the royal command and had married, and therefore this barony was surely loyal to him. When the Queen Mother mentioned Guy of Gisborne’s name as Violet’s spouse, Richard didn’t recognise it and declared he was pleased that his orders had been followed. Learning that the new baron was also pro tempore sheriff, the hurriedly ratified the appointment to make it permanent. Besides, he confirmed definitively the lifting of the ban on Robin of Locksley’s head, very pleased to be able to help one of his most loyal vassals and those who had been with him in the fight against the abuses and plots of the former sheriff. Then, he devoted himself to more pressing matters of internal and external policy and thought no longer of that county.

As the weeks and then the months went by, without Richard showing any interest in Nottingham, and having received the confirmation of his position as the sheriff, Guy began to concretely hope that the king didn’t know that he had been the man in charge to kill him, twice. So maybe he could truly aspire to a good life, though he would never cease to atone for his past misdeeds, until the end of his days.

OOO

One evening at the beginning of March, Guy as usual went to his wife’s bedchamber. Violet was waiting for him sitting in front of the blazing fireplace and, as soon as he came in, she rose and beamed at him. Charmed as ever, Guy crossed the room and reached for her hands.

“My lord husband”, Violet said in a voice full of emotion. “You’re going to be a father, soon.”

For a moment, Guy was completely breathless. Then he hugged her tightly.

“What wonderful news”, he murmured. He didn’t waste time asking if she was sure: if she was telling him, she certainly was. “When is it due?”

“If I kept track of my days rightly, ‘tis due for the second half of September.”

“We should start thinking about the names...”

Violet pulled back to gaze at her husband.

“I already considered the topic”, she admitted. “I chose a couple of names, but of course, only if you agree.”

“Tell me”, Guy exhorted her.

“If ‘tis a boy, I’d like to call him like my brother, Jeffrey. If ‘tis a girl, like your mother, Ghislaine.”

Guy didn’t need to think about it for a minute.

“I’d say both are perfect”, he smiled.

“I was thinking to go to my father tomorrow, to break the news to him”, Violet added.

“We’re going together”, Guy decided.

Thus, the following day Violet and Guy headed for Chetwood – on a carriage, given Violet’s condition – and William was very happy to see them. He was even happier when he learnt about his daughter’s pregnancy, almost bursting into tears of emotion when they told him what name they had chosen in case of a boy.

Rebelle and Drastan too, learning the news, took part in the parents-to-be happiness, and so did Marian and Robin.

Isabella, her husband and their children came to Nottingham for Easter. The two sisters-in-law quickly found again the comradeship of their shared childhood and spent a few days in each other’s agreeable company. On Easter Monday, Allan and Sally announced their intention to marry next month. Sally had been very close to Allan during his convalescence and the two of them had ended up falling in love with one another.

To celebrate his future marriage, Allan invited Robin, Guy and Drastan in Nottingham’s best tavern.

“Who would have thought you’d end up settling down!” cried Robin, laughing after they had their first toast. “You’ve been the worst rascal I ever met!”

“I would’ve never thought it of _you_!” Allan countered promptly with a grin, saucy as usual.

“And I would’ve never thought it of _me_ ”, Drastan admitted with a laugh. “But when the right woman arrives, you mustn’t let her go!”

The other three man agreed, then they clinked together their tankards in a toast and drank to Drastan’s statement.

OOO

It was the evening of September 12th, 1195, a Tuesday. Guy paced incessantly up and down in the great hall of the castle, in the grips of a terrible anxiety. Since early in the morning, Violet was in labour and she hadn’t given birth yet.

As the mother was no longer very young – she would turn 31 within two months – and this was her first child, Matilda had come to stay at the castle a couple of days earlier, in preparation of the delivery, and she was looking after her since the early stages of the labour. Since then, Guy was fretting, to the point that he had refused to have his midday meal. Drastan had kept him company ever since the wait had started, and during the following hours, they had been joined by Rebelle – the very first to arrive – and then by Marian and Robin too.

“I don’t think ‘tis normal that she needs so much time”, the father-to-be said to no one in particular of those who were there. In his tone, the concern was clearly detectable.

“Ten hours aren’t few, but they aren’t so many either”, Marian observed. The countess had taken Githa with her, Locksley’s midwife, so that she could assist Matilda. “Violet is in the best possible hands. I’m absolutely sure that everything will be fine.”

“This wait is killing me!” Guy burst out, incapable to contain his anguish. It had been more than two hours that Githa had given them the latest update. “I have to go check on her...”

“If you try that, Matilda will kick you out in an instant”, Rebelle warned him, as she had seen the healer doing exactly this on one occasion, a few years earlier in Chetwood, soon after Lady Adèle had died and Matilda had assisted the village’s midwife during a difficult delivery.

“Hold on, my friend”, Drastan exhorted him, placing one hand on his shoulder to try to comfort him. “As Lady Marian said, everything’s going to be fine...”

Robin placed a goblet full of wine in Guy’s hands.

“Drink and relax, Gisborne”, he ordered him, his curt tone barely concealing his own concern for his childhood friend.

Guy glared at him, but said nothing and took the goblet, draining it in one gulp. Right then, Matilda came in.

“’Tis born”, she announced smiling, as soon as she walked into the hall. “A boy, healthy and perfect!”

Guy whipped around and was about to open his mouth, but the healer was quicker. “Lady Violet is perfectly fine, though she’s very tired. Labour was long, but delivery was very fast and with no problems at all.”

Guy’s face shone in relief and infinite joy.

“I’m a father”, he whispered. Technically, this wasn’t the first time, but Seth was born as he was absent, carrying out a task for Vaisey. Anyway, he had never been in love with Annie, who had just been a pleasant diversion from a gloomy life, therefore he hadn’t been emotionally involved, unlike now.

“Hurray!” Drastan cried, seizing a carafe and pouring wine into everyone’s goblets. “Let’s drink to Jeffrey of Nottingham!”

“Later”, Guy decided, unaware he was mimicking what Robin had done and said when Richard was born. “Now I want to go to my wife and son.”

“Not immediately”, Matilda stopped him. “First we need to tidy up mother and child, then you can see them. Briefly”, she warned him firmly. “Lady Violet is exhausted” she stressed.

The healer’s authoritarian tone brooked no argument and therefore Guy resigned to obedience.

“I’ll wait for your call then”, he grumbled. Matilda nodded, not without empathy for the new father.

“In the meantime, I suggest you to have a bite”, she added more softly, but still resolutely. “It’ll take over half an hour.”

“Excellent idea!” Drastan cried. “I’m starving!”

Now that the strain of the wait was over, Guy too found himself hungry.

“Alright”, he therefore accepted, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I too am hungry, now.”

Matilda took her leave. As all the bystanders were warmly congratulating Guy, several servants came in with the food Joanna had kept ready all day. They enjoyed the meal greatly, relieved that everything had ended in the best possible way. When Githa came for Guy, the new father left his roasted mutton half uneaten and ran to his wife’s bedchamber.

Violet looked weary, but in her eyes shone a dazzling light as she held her baby son. The smile she addressed at her husband was tired, but expressed an immense happiness.

Guy knelt beside his wife and son and encircled both with his arms. His eyes were glistening with tears as he looked from one to the other.

“Jeffrey, this is your father”, Violet said softly, slightly raising the child toward Guy. Jeffrey cracked his eyes open – very light-coloured as in almost all infants – and looked vaguely around, uttered a soft whimper and firmly closed his eyelids again.

A lump in his throat prevented Guy from speaking. He bent over and kissed his wife’s brow, then his son’s too.

Matilda, who had discretely retired to the far end of the room to leave this moment entirely to the new parents, saw the gesture and recalled the moment she had had the misfortune to run into Vaisey’s clutches. At the time, she had thought she had met the devil itself in the Sheriff of Nottingham’s guise, and his right-hand man Gisborne didn’t look much less terrifying. However, already then something in the black-clad knight seemed to her somehow out of tune, and now she had figured out the reason: Vaisey’s evilness was real, Gisborne’s only apparent. The true Gisborne was the one she was seeing today, beside his wife and newborn son, a stern but just man, who smiled rarely but was capable of deep feelings.

OOO

“I’m not sick, I’m pregnant!” Rebelle cried, irritated, addressing Drastan as she was training with him. “Don’t fight like a wimp because of this!”

It was the end of June of AD 1196. A few days from the expected date of delivery, Rebelle was still doing her fencing, though of course with all the proper precautions, such as the special cover for her swelled belly and avoiding over-exertion. Ever since she had found out she was expecting a child, she had mainly trained with wooden dies and straw effigies, but she had hired her husband several times for a little live practice.

“I apologise, my love, but I’m simply too afraid to hurt you, or to hurt our baby”, Drastan justified himself in a sweet tone, without losing patience. Rebelle’s explosive character had become especially volatile during her pregnancy, but both Robin and Guy had told him it was normal and that he had to endure it as much as possible.

Her husband’s evident tenderness deflated Rebelle’s bad mood at once and she regretted having verbally assaulted him. She bit her lower lip.

“Nay, I’m the one apologising”, she sighed. “These days I’m cross like a wet cat.”

“Don’t worry, I understand that”, Drastan said, hugging her. “Come, let’s sit for a moment and have a drink.”

They sauntered to a bench in the shadow of an elm marking the northern limit of the training ground. Here, they placed down their wooden swords – given Rebelle’s state, they favoured this weapons, as they were less dangerous than the real ones. Drastan used a ladle to pick up fresh water from the bottom of the terracotta jar next to the trunk, then he handed a beaker to his wife.

“I needed this”, Rebelle said, grateful, after taking a long draught.

“How do you feel?” Drastan asked, sitting beside her. “Apart from the edginess, of course”, he added in a joking tone. Rebelle chuckled.

“I feel like my belly’s going to burst!” she cried. “I can’t wait for our baby boy or girl to come out…”

Drastan bent over and, in complete earnestness, he talked to his wife’s belly. “Hey, you heard your mummy? She’s had enough of waiting, come on, quick!”

He was so funny that Rebelle burst into laughter. Then she pulled a face.

“Damn it, I’m afraid I just wetted myself!” she muttered. In the last few days, the leakage of urine had increased, as she had been warned it would happen, and ever since she always wore her tampons for the lunar cycle. Except this time it didn’t seem to stop and, in just a few moments, her breeches got drenched. She immediately realised that her water broke. “Hum, darling… I think you should walk me to my bedchamber and send for Violet…”

She spoke softly, but Drastan reacted as almost every men in this situation: he panicked.

“Good heavens, the baby’s about to be born??” he yelled, springing to his feet. “Oh God, what do I do?”

“’Tis not about to be born, calm down”, Rebelle tried to soothe him, as her cousin had instructed her properly. “It’ll need a few hours still, and anyway, there’s Lecia who can assist me until Violet gets here.”

Lecia was Rivendale’s elderly and very skilled midwife. Though her successor had completed her training, she was still active and firmly determined to assist Rebelle, whom at the time she had delivered.

Drastan helped his wife standing, then he picked her up and carried her as fast as his long legs allowed him. Luckily enough, the main door was wide open because of the heat, or else he would have just charged through it.

“Get Lecia, quickly!” Drastan shouted as soon as he was inside.

Mawa came running as he was already flying upstairs. She grasped instantly what was going on.

“I take care of that, my lord!” she yelled after him. “Rose!” she called then, “Hurry up, go to Lecia, Lady Rebelle has gone into labour!”

The young maidservant didn’t waste time and shot outside. Meanwhile, Mawa rushed in search of Osmer, the second in command of the guards, to have him sending someone for Lady Violet.

A little over an hour later, the Baroness of Nottingham was at her cousin’s side, examining her.

“I’d daresay there’s no doubt about she’s going to give birth”, old Lecia grumbled, slightly annoyed that a much younger healer, though a noblewoman, was seemingly questioning her skills. 

“About that, surely not”, Violet confirmed in a firm tone. She was determined to show respect but to demand as much, too. “But can you also foresee how long it’ll take?”

“Of course not”, the elderly midwife answered. “Every delivery is unique. Sometimes it takes a long time, sometimes it doesn’t, there’s no rule.”

“Indeed there’s none, but there are signs that help at making a prediction. For instance, in my opinion this baby is in a hurry and will be born quickly.”

Lecia snorted, incredulous. “I don’t mean to be disrespectful, my lady, but the pains are still far apart and not very hurtful, and this means ‘tis still far off.”

“We’ll see…”

Lecia had never dealt with a woman in a physical shape equal to Rebelle’s and therefore she had no idea how much this could affect the easiness of delivery. In fact, after just three hours, in the chamber rang the piercing wail proclaiming to the world that a new life had arrived.

“’Tis a lovely baby girl”, Violet announced to her cousin, who had endured the pains of childbirth with no problems, even during the most acute part, and now looked just a little bit tired.

Rebelle smiled.

“Diana”, she simply said. That was the name she and Drastan had chosen in case of a girl, in honour of the Roman goddess of hunting and of the moon.

Drastan was waiting in the great hall along with Guy, Robin and Marian. The latter was with child for the second time, now into the fourth month. When Violet came to break the news of Diana’s birth, the new father let out an exultant shout, as he had never made a secret that he would prefer a girl as his firstborn, and his wish had been granted. He toasted with cider and wine and he got almost drunk, but more out of happiness than strong drinks.

It goes without saying that, as soon as she was able to stand after the delivery, Rebelle returned to her beloved sword, as indomitable as ever.


	31. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Nottingham, June 14th, 1200

Violet was in her garden, seated on a comfortable bench with backrest, stuffed with cushions, set in the shadow of a hazel tree. In her arms she was holding her last born, William, who was just one and forty days old. Jeffrey was playing on the lawn, fumbling around with his small wooden sword, as Ghislaine, still too young to join him, stared at him, her fair blue eyes – identical to her father’s – wide with awe. Hulda, their nanny, was keeping a close eye on them.

Noticing that Willian had fallen asleep, Violet placed him carefully in his cradle. Guy leaned forward to look at his baby son from over his wife’s shoulder.

“He sleeps more than the other two at the same age, or is it just my imagination?” he asked in a whisper.

“Nay, you’re right”, Violet confirmed, turning to look at her husband. “They say that the more a newborn sleeps, the taller he’s going to be as an adult. If ‘tis true, he’s going to be as tall as his father.”

“I cannot tell you whether I was sleeping a lot as an infant or not, my mother never told me”, Guy smiled.

“We’ll see, then”, Violet smiled back. She pulled jokingly at one lace of his shirt of purple linen, one of those he asked her, from time to time, to sew for him expressly of that colour, because he liked to wear it in honour of his wife.

Guy took her hand and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss on it.

“As tall as me or not, what matters is that he grows up healthy and strong”, he declared. “And as handsome as his mother”, he added.

Violet leant over to her husband and kissed his lips.

“His father too is handsome”, she affirmed.

A discreet cough diverted them from one another.

“What is it, Fred?” Guy asked the head servant.

“Forgive me interrupting you… My lady, Lady Marian sent word that the remedy you suggested for her daughters is working.”

“Thank you, Fred”, Violet said, glad to learn the news. Marian and Robin’s twin daughters, Meliora and Rhoswen – Violet had assisted to their delivery as she had done with their elder brother Richard – for some time were having trouble in evacuating and therefore Violet had suggested Marian to have them drinking the water of boiled dried plums and slices of apples before sleep.

The head servant bowed to them and took his leave.

Guy cast a glance to Jeffrey, who was still fumbling around with his sword, simulating a duel with an imaginary antagonist. It was plain that we was mimicking his father, whom he looked at in awe when he trained with Drastan or other soldiers in the castle’s courtyard.

“Seems like yesterday he was as small as William”, Guy commented.

“I agree”, Violet admitted. “Time passes quickly…”

_Events large and small had occurred in the last few years, affecting their lives to a greater or lesser degree._

_In November 1195, three months after Jeffrey’s birth, Annie and Seth moved to the rebuilt Gisborne Hall. Robin hadn’t had much trouble in convincing Annie to accept Guy’s bestowment in Seth’s favour, as she had suspected for a long time already who was behind the economic aid she was receiving. Guy had made it very clear that he wouldn’t legitimise the child, and she was fine with it, because being the illegitimate son of a high ranked nobleman was anyway far much better than being the legitimate son of any given peasant. The reasoning was perhaps cynical, but surely to the advantage of both her and Seth. Anyway, if she felt so, she would marry and have more children, but she didn’t seem to be interested in that path of life and had therefore remained an unmarried woman._

_At the end of October 1196, four months after Diana’s birth – Rebelle and Drastan’s firstborn daughter – Meliora and Rhoswen came into the world at Locksley._

_In 1198, the war between Richard the Lionheart and Philip Augustus King of France rekindled. During this year, in February, Violet and Guy had Ghislaine, and in November arrived Alisander, Drastan and Rebelle’s son._

_The years had gone by and King Richard’s attention had stayed away from Nottingham, even because Guy and Violet did everything possible to keep a low profile. Robin and the men of his ex-gang had confirmed that the sovereign had remained unconscious throughout Marian and Guy’s whole fight and therefore he had neither seen nor heard anything until the latter had escaped with Vaisey. Richard’s lack of interest for Nottingham seemed to confirm it and slowly Guy and Violet began to hope that everything would be fine._

_On March 26 th, 1199, King Richard was shot in the neck by a crossbow during the siege of the castle of Châlus-Chabrol, not far from Limoges. The wound festered and led him to death in a few days: on April 6th, the king passed away, aged only 41._

_John succeeded his brother, who had named him as his heir in the absence of a legitimate son. The new king too showed np particular interest in Nottingham, except about where the standard administration was concerned. After all, he was convinced that Guy was a supporter of his, because he had been Vaisey’s right-hand man. John had no idea that instead Guy had contributed to wipe off the world the last three members of the sect John himself had founded in order to overthrow his elder brother, and he would never learn of this._

_Finally, on May 4 th of the current year 1200, Violet and Guy’s newest son was born. They he named him after his grandfather, to Sir William’s greatest joy._

“Time passes quickly, aye”, Guy confirmed. “But I love you as much as the first day… Nay, actually I love you _more_.”

Violet beamed at him, feeling thrilled as usual whenever her husband told her his feelings.

“I love you too”, she declared, snuggling up into the crook of his arm, which he had put around her. “As much and more than the first day.”

He kissed the top of her head. Violet raised her face and spoke into Guy’s ear.

“Now that William’s asleep, we have a couple of hours to ourselves”, she said very softly, in an allusive tone. “What about taking advantage of it and have a little alone time somewhere…?”

Guy held his breath. They hadn’t made love for over three months now, because in the last weeks of her pregnancy, Violet had had a constant feeling of fatigue and had experienced back pain.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asked. Though he was looking forward to lie again with his wife, Guy knew that the canon 40 days after childbirth are not always enough and sometimes the woman needs more time, both physically and emotionally, to appreciate again the conjugal joys. With Jeffrey, for instance, Violet had needed one week more, while after Ghislaine’s birth, she had invited him in her bed at the exact expiry, as she was doing right now.

Violet appreciated the regard her husband was showing her.

“It I wasn’t, I wouldn’t ask you, would I?” she replied with an impish grin, and to reiterate her seductive decision, she nibbled at his earlobe.

Guy uttered a low groan.

“My lady wife, you know I adore it when you’re brazen…” he whispered, then he rose and offered her his hand. She took it, rising in turn.

“Hulda!” she called the nanny, who rushed to them immediately. “Keep an eye on William”, Violet instructed her. “My husband and I are going to retire for a little while.”

“Of course, my lady”, the nanny complied. “I’ll take care of him, don’t worry.”

Violet and Guy walked away hand in hand. Heading for the main body of the castle, they passed by the straw target which the baroness regularly used to train with her bow, sometimes competing with Robin of Locksley who, though remaining unbeatable, had in her a worthy adversary who gave him always a hard time to earn his victory.

To anyone looking at them, the radiant faces and love-filled glances husband and wife were exchanging were clue enough at what was the reason they wanted a few time alone. The inhabitants of the castle were very happy about it, because since Guy of Gisborne and Violet of Chetwood had become the Baron and Baroness of Nottingham, everyone’s life was more prosper and peaceful than they had ever dreamt of. 

Still holding hands, Violet and Guy entered the castle, heading for a secluded corner nearby that had seen before their amorous effusions. And this would surely not be the last time…

THE END

_…and they lived happily ever after? I very much hope so, because Guy has suffered deeply – and so my FOC Violet – and, having decided to pursue redemption for his past misdeeds, he deserved a different ending than the one they gave him in the TV show. And anyway, my stories end always with a positive finale: life is already enough depressing in itself that there’s no need to get even more depressed with bad endings in fictions, don’t you agree?_

_Dear reader, thank you for reading my little fan fiction. If you liked it, I hope you will be so kind as to give it kudos; and I would love to receive some feedback, even just a few words to let me know if and in which way you appreciated my story. Thanks again!_

_Lady Angel_


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